


Us of Lesser Gods

by Laelior



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Author will update, F/M, Mostly Plot with Smatterings of Smut, Occasional bits of fluff, Post-Tresspasser, When life isn't kicking her ass so much
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-08-09 02:22:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7783105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laelior/pseuds/Laelior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her dreams are less vivid since the Anchor was taken from her, but they still have the power to leave her shaking at times. The only times her dreams seem quite as real as they used to are when he seeks her out in the Fade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: I've'an'virelan (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A good story, well, that’s about hurting good characters and seeing how they react. I’ve seen it, and wrote it, a thousand times.”  
> ―Varric Tethras

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gettin' on with the smut right off the bat here.
> 
> The first half is NSFW. The second half is tamer.

In the Fade, he dreamed of her.

He drifted through this nightmare world of dull sepia tones, but she shone in bright colors. She was real. Everything else might as well be a painting or one of his frescos. Flat. Two-dimensional. Pale imitations of real life. The light of her hair bled fire into her surroundings, making them appear _more_ by the light she radiated.

She looked down at him with dark, heavy-lidded eyes, taking him in with a certain devilish glee. She sat astride him in her tent, gloriously naked while he lay on his back, clad only his his breeches and wolf jawbone necklace, the former of which he suspected was not long for this world. The small space was heady with her scent, an intoxicating mix of honey and wildflowers, shot through with the spicy aroma of her magic.

His hands roamed over her body, feeling every last piece of skin he could get his fingers on. She was soft in places, such wonderful places. Her breasts yielded to his kneading hands, pulling a delightful mewling sound from her mouth. He watched as her nipples hardened under his touch. Moving his hands up to her shoulders and all the way down her arms to her wrists, he ghosted his fingers over the rough calluses on her palms, evidence of years spent working with her hands, eking out a meager living with her Dalish clan and wielding magic staffs.

He paused when he reached her left hand. The Anchor glowed with a feverish green light. Before she’d learned to master it, it had glowed all night and day. She’d confessed to him that early on it drove her to distraction. She couldn’t sleep with the light coming from her own hand, and had taken to covering it with a thick leather gauntlet at night so she could get her rest. She had learned to control it with time, but it still glowed when she was particularly...excited.

“This was not what I had in mind when I suggested we share a tent for warmth.” His voice came out huskier than he intended. She laughed and reached down to caress his face. The touch of her hand was like a kiss of fire on his cheek.

“Are you not warm, _vhenan_?” She rolled her hips lightly against his and he let out a low moan despite himself. She was right, in a sense. Together their bodies gave off enough heat keep the biting chill of Emprise du Lion at bay, and then some. There was something evil about the way she’d gone about seducing him. Wondrous, certainly, but also evil. A comment from her about how cold it was to sleep alone in this climate led to him offering to keep her company, which in turn had led to this. She dipped down to kiss him and her breasts brushed against his bare chest, warm velvet flesh melting against his. She tasted of sweet spiced wine and embrium. He had a hard time remembering why he had resisted the urge to lay with her for so long.

She pulled herself upright again and lightly trailed her fingers down his torso. It was a slow, meticulous torment. She drew sensations into his skin with her fingertips, with the slight drag of her nails, moving down his body at a languorous pace. Her fingers plucked at the ties of the laces keeping him constrained in his breeches. Stolen kisses and soft touches were one thing. This was...quite another. The more rational parts of his mind wanted to grab her hands and stop this before it went too far. It was not fair to her to carry on too much.

The rest of him made it clear he wasn’t on speaking terms with those parts of his brain when one hand reached up to fondle her breast, rolling her wonderfully pert nipple under his thumb. She gasped under his touch, prompting him to touch her more to hear more of those sounds from her mouth. Her fingers were making quick work of his laces now, spurred on by his attentions. She tugged his breeches down past his hips. Her smile grew wicked as she looked him over like a particularly hungry dragon. She ran her palm up the length of him and he bit back a groan.

“You will be the death of me, _vhenan_ ,” he murmured, pulling her down for a passionate kiss. He probed her lips with his tongue, tasting her again. She tasted of desire. She was all heat and wetness against him, rocking her hips against his straining erection. It was torture. At last, after toying with him like that for what seemed like an eternity, she laced her fingers with his and plied him with a deep kiss. She slowly lowered herself onto him, inch by torturous inch. He could feel her stretching and moving around his length.

“Ellana, I―” Words were complicated. Everything was complicated. The only thing that made sense was where they were joined. He raised his knees and pushed his hips up off the ground to thrust into her, bringing a moan to her lips. They settled into a rhythm; she rocked against him and he pushed up into her. The only sounds in the tent were the soft gasps and moans they elicited from each other against the staccato rhythm of flesh on flesh. Together, they created a music that swelled and ebbed with the demands of their bodies on each other. A tight coil of pleasure was building, growing deep within him.

She let go of his hands and planted hers firmly on the ground on either side of him. It allowed him the opportunity to grasp her slim hips and dictate the pace. The first time he used his hold to pull her hips down forcefully on him, she gasped. The second time, she moaned loudly enough that she bit down on her lower lip to keep the sound in. A pity. He would have liked to have heard her sing for him. Perhaps one day, when they weren’t in a campsite crowded by their friends and companions, he would.

The rhythm sped up. She was shaking, barely keeping herself propped up and biting so hard on her lip he feared she would draw blood. One hand snaked up her back to pull her down for a kiss, giving her an outlet for the cries she kept in, the other hand stayed on her hip to keep the pace. She rolled against him once, twice, and then her whole body shuddered and tightened around him. She moaned against his mouth and he felt the sound fill him, sending vibrations down the whole of his sensitized body. The rhythm they had set stuttered as the coil of pleasure unfurled throughout his body. A hoarse groan escaped him before he could stop it. He barely managed to pull out from her before spilling himself.

She rolled off to the side, but kept her hands on his chest as if breaking contact with him would end the spell and they would be cast back into the cold reality that awaited outside the tent. He laced his fingers with hers, turning his head to look her. She was beautiful: smiling, content, and flushed all the way up to the tips of her pointed ears. Some small bitter feeling twisted deep in his heart. It seemed a cruel joke that she should have been born to this fallen world, to live a brief shining life before passing in the blink of an eye.

“ _Ar lath ma_ ,” she said, when she was finally able to draw enough breath to speak again. It was some time before he was able to do the same.

 

* * *

 

 

Solas awoke with a start, quite certain he had heard someone calling his name but too confounded by the scene he’d encountered in the Fade to pay it much mind. For all that it was his own memory, he hardly recognized it. It was like someone had taken his memory and transcribed it poorly into one of those dreadful serials Varric had been so fond of writing. Was that truly how he remembered that moment with her? Perish the thought.  The Fade had an odd way of playing with events, however. Something he knew better than most. He had been dreaming of Ellana more often of late, which, he thought, must have influenced the nostalgia in seeing that particular memory in the nebulous, subjective realm of dreams.

“Solas.” Ah, so he had heard someone calling his name. He sat up and took a moment to reorient himself to the waking world. He had lain down on a bedroll in a clearing in the Crossroads and had drifted off into the Fade for a short while while a lone statue of a Qunari looked on. Weak rays of sunlight filtered over the distant mountains toward his clearing, dancing across the waters of the pond nearby. He looked around and saw a hooded elf in silver armor standing patiently a few feet away.

“Abelas.” He drew himself up to his feet and nodded to the pale, ancient elf in greeting. The sentinel elf drew back his hood, revealing his gold eyes, braided silver hair, and sharp Elvhen features. He had seen how many of the People who had flocked to his cause over the past few years had gawked at how alien the sentinels elves looked to them, but the modern elves looked just as strange to Abelas and his kin. Over the millennia, the proud features of the Elvhen had become soft and muted, more human-like. The degeneracy was shocking to them. Some of the sentinels had gone so far as to question his decision to welcome the modern elves into his ranks, seeing them as little more than pointy-eared shemlen. He had listened to their concerns, but ultimately dismissed them. As in the days of Elvhenan, he welcomed all who sought to break their chains, whether it was the literal ones of Tevinter slaves, the crushing poverty of the alienages, or the privations of eking out a nomadic life tethered to the memories of false gods.

They were not the People of his time, nor would they ever be. But he owed them this chance to take back control of their lives, even if few of them would ever understand why he took the actions he did.

“I apologize for waking you, but you wanted to know when we were ready.”

“Yes, thank you.” Solas tugged at the armor he had fallen asleep in. No one―not the humans, the Qunari,  the dwarves, or the Elvhen of old―had managed to make a suit of armor that was both functional and comfortable to sleep in. “We will move out in the next few days. It will take time to get everything into place.”

Abelas nodded. “I’ll pass the word on.” He turned to go, but Solas cleared his throat, halting the other man in his path.

“If you wouldn’t mind sending for some parchment and a messenger, I need to write a letter.”

“It will be as you say. Will there be anything else?” The sentinel was impatient, he observed to himself. His general stoicism kept him from displaying much eagerness, but Solas knew him better than that. There was a concealed tension about him, belied by his relaxed pose.

“No, that will be all.” Abelas left then. Solas folded his arms behind his back and paced around the clearing. He had not been idle in the five years since the Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan had defeated the Darkspawn Magister Corypheus. In that time, they had both been working in secret against each other, building up their power bases and preparing for the inevitable clash.

For a time, he had seen her, met with her in their dreams when he could find her. He had not sought her out in some time, perhaps explaining why he was replaying his memories of their time together...and fantasizing about new ones. Pride, along with cowardice if he was being honest, had kept him from her dreams. She would, no doubt, be...unhappy with the things he had done if she were to become aware of them. Ashamed. Try to talk him down, even if he could make her understand what was truly at stake. Maintaining a sentimental connection to one’s opponent, he had found, was more complicated than he anticipated. It had been a mistake to allow himself to become so involved with her, to be certain, but he couldn’t bring himself to fully regret it, either.

He had perpetrated cruelties in his life. Necessary acts as a means to an end in wars forgotten to the abyss of time. Loving, and subsequently leaving her, was among those he counted as his cruelest acts. Worse, there was no way to justify it. He had never meant to hurt her. He had merely allowed himself to get carried away with the experience of wanting, and being wanted in return. In the end, she paid the price for his foolishness.

And yet, the memory of her touch still warmed his dreams. This world was a cruel and cold place, devoid of the magic and wonder his actions had deprived it of. But if such a world had birthed her, and those few he had come to respect, it could not all be hopeless.

He could not stop his plans on a tenuous sliver of hope, however.

The messenger arrived in the clearing, bearing a portable writing desk with a quill and inkwell affixed to the top. His lips quirked in amusement. It looked, for all the world, like that ridiculous contraption Josephine had always had in her hands when she was away from her desk. All it lacked was a candle half-burnt to a stub. He jotted a short note on the parchment, carefully folded it, and wrote a name on the front. The messenger bowed as he left, eliciting an exasperated sigh from Solas.

The winds were shifting. All of his carefully laid plots were beginning to bear fruit. If it all went as planned, he might even see her again in a few months’ time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This is my first foray into fanfic. This grew out of some ideas I had during my last play through of the game, and I fully expect everything herein won't follow canon when the next game comes out. I posted a chapter from this story independently a while ago ("Apologies"), and was encouraged by the kudos and feedback I received. You're all wonderful people. <3
> 
> Thank you for Project Elvhen for providing a wonderful catalog of words and phrases that helped flesh out the world here.
> 
> Also, titles are not my strong suit. Sorry.
> 
> Edited again 10/2/16: Because this is really the only Solas POV chapter and he apparently has things he still wants to say.
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://laelior.tumblr.com/), too.


	2. A Friend in Qarinus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana receives his message.

Ellana awoke to the sound of a light rapping on her door. Sunlight streamed in through a window near her bed, a light breeze fluttering the tasteful lace curtains, carrying a scent of the sea into her room. That, along with many of the unsavory smells that accompanied human cities. To give her host credit, Dorian had made certain that her room in his Qarinus estate faced the Ventosus Straights, which largely minimized the offensive odors.

The sea breeze reminded her of the dream she’d just awoken from. She’d been riding in an aravel, but instead of travelling over land she was travelling the sea. She’d been endlessly searching for something, though what she couldn’t recall. Her aravel was tossed about on the waves. The stars she was trying to navigate by kept on blinking out and disappearing until the heavens were vacant and the ocean becalmed. She was stranded and alone, laying up and looking at the empty sky, crying out for the Creators to help her, but no one answered.

Ellana shook her head of the memory of the distressing dream. Her dreams were less vivid since Solas had taken the Anchor from her, but they still had the power to leave her shaking sometimes. The only times her dreams seemed quite as real as they used to were when he sought her out in the Fade. For a while, after revealing himself as Fen’Harel and removing the Anchor to save her life, she’d had the feeling of someone watching her in her dreams. Then he appeared her one day, just as vivid as he was in the waking world. They talked, they argued, they played chess as a part of a mental battle against each other. They tried to persuade each other to no avail.

But he hadn’t come to her for almost a year now, and she lacked the ability to bend the dreaming world to her will to find him. She didn’t even know what she would say if she did find him. Despite their opposition to each other, she’d half looked forward to his visits. In the Fade, they could sometimes pretend that everything was normal between them. Sometimes. But it tore at her heart to be with him while also fighting against him. There was no word for whatever it was they had. But then he’d stopped. Maybe he’d gotten what he wanted out of her. Maybe….

Someone knocked on her door again, more firmly this time, and she remembered what drew her from her dream in the first place. Ellana reached for a robe that sat on a chair next to her and made certain she was decently covered before returning her attention to the door.

“Enter, please,” she called. She sat up against her pillows and smoothed the covers around her before doing the same for her hair. As best she could with just one hand, at any rate. _What a useless, human thing to do_ , she thought with a grimace. After so many years living among them, their mannerisms had rubbed off on her in subtle ways. Like trying to make herself presentable before she even got out of bed. Madame de Fer would have been proud, but her Dalish kin would probably greatly disapprove.

An elderly elven woman bustled in carrying her breakfast tray. The simple fare the kitchens had thoughtfully provided her made her smile: brown bread with berry jam, smoked sausage, and tea. She had no stomach for the delicacies the upper class Tevinters like Dorian favored. “Soporati slop,” as Dorian had affectionately named the kinds of foods she preferred, suited her just fine.

The serving woman fussed over her like a mother, making sure her the food would not cause her trouble with her single hand, smoothing down her covers even more so the tray sat evenly on the bed. She even looked the part of an overly protective matron, with her steely gray hair drawn up in a tight bun and an apron over the plain blue gown she wore. Like all of Dorian’s servants, she was a Liberati, a freed slave. Ellana was under no illusions that he had upended his estate out of the goodness of his heart or as a gesture of his affection for her. He had decided that it would be easier to buy his servants’ loyalty with coin than with shackles.

It also offered him another way to thumb his nose at the Magisterium, something he could hardly resist doing when given the slightest opportunity.

“Thank you, Avia. I think I can manage breakfast on my own,” Ellana said after watching the woman fuss for too long. Avia smiled at her indulgently, like a particularly slow child who wanted to try a difficult task without their mother’s help for the first time.

“You have messages, Mistress Lavellan,” she said, pointing to the corner of the tray where two pieces of parchment sat. One of them was tightly rolled, likely having been carried by a messenger bird. The other was folded in a neat packet. Avia picked that one up and placed it in her hand with another smile, but there was something that glinted behind the motherly facade. Ellana turned over the parchment to see that it was addressed to her, in handwriting that shocked her to the core to see. When she looked up, Avia was already gone.

Her fingers shaking and numb, she unfolded the packet. The message was simple, short, and cryptic, like he’d written it in a hurry.

_Knight takes queen._

 

* * *

 

Dorian was in a predictably fine mood later that day when Ellana told him what had happened.

“ _Vishante kaffas_ !” he hissed, pacing up and down his library while she sat and watched him. The rest of his servants had wisely made themselves scarce. “Next, you’ll be telling me that the cleaning staff are also reporting to your _amatus_ on the minutiae of every shit we take.” He was slightly red in the face, but his hair and meticulously crafted moustache remained as elegant as ever. Light glittered off of the onyx sewn into his fashionably asymmetric outfit as he continued to pace. It was almost dizzying to watch.

As far as she could tell, it was entirely normal for the noble families of Tevinter to spy upon each other to gain the upper hand in the ruthless politics of the Magisterium. He and his fellow Lucerni were particular targets due to their efforts to reform the Imperium. In the six months she’d been in northern Thedas, there had been two casual attempts on his life. That she knew of, anyway. It almost made her miss Orlais.

But this was different. Solas wasn’t a rival magister he could set his own spies on. He was an outsider with goals that went far beyond the politics of the Imperium. That they had once fought side-by-side to stop Corypheus probably made it feel personal to him. Ben-Hassrath spies reporting back to Par Vollen would have been preferable. Avia was nowhere to be found on the estate, and no one could recall seeing her leave. Ellana had no doubt she’d been instructed to personally deliver the message and then disappear before she could be questioned.

“There’s more,” Ellana interjected when she saw him drawing in another breath to begin another impressive string of profanity. As educational as it was on Tevene swear words, there was more he needed to know. She held up the small, rolled piece of parchment. “That wasn’t the only message I received this morning. Unless I’m much mistaken, I wasn’t the first person to read this.” She turned it so he could see that while the roll was still sealed, the parchment had a subtle grain to it that was misaligned when one looked very closely at it. Leliana always had clever ways of telling whether her correspondence had been tampered with.

“Just bloody wonderful,” Dorian muttered, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “I’ll have to clean house after this. I’ll never live this down in the Magisterium. Fuck him, and the horse he rode in on.”

“Really, now, I think you’re taking this a bit far. At least leave the horses out of this.” Ellana shook her head. Something else already had him in a bad mood, she concluded, and the news that at least one of his servants was spying for the Wolf didn’t help. She cracked open the seal of the parchment scroll, only to see a message almost as cryptic as the one Solas had left her.

“Always remember that faith sprung from a barren branch,” she read.

“Pardon me?” Dorian paused in his pacing, and she held up the parchment in explanation. “Isn’t that a verse from the Chant of Light? Mind you, I'm a bit rusty on it."

Ellana nodded hesitantly. In her role as Inquisitor, she’d developed a familiarity with the Andrastian texts, but she was by no means an expert. This one, however, tugged at her memory. She glanced down at the message again. Besides the short verse, the only other thing on the parchment was a small stamp in the shape of a bird. A nightingale. She tapped the parchment roll against her chin as she thought.

“How soon can my horse be made ready? I may also need to borrow some messenger birds.”

“My dear Ellana, you’ve barely just arrived. You can’t be thinking of leaving so soon. Why, I haven’t had a chance to flaunt you before the Magisterium. Think of the scandal we’ll be missing out on.” He batted his eyes at her so endearingly that she had to laugh.

“I’d hate to intrude. You’re having such fun scandalizing your peers all on your own.”

“My peers? Ha! Those overstuffed pheasants are nowhere near my level.”

“Of ego, no doubt.” She smiled. “I think I’ve gotten what I can from Tevinter.” The last six months had been a mix of largely fruitless efforts to try and glean information from ancient Tevinter archives and the slightly more productive venture of going through even more ancient Elvhen ruins for clues. She was pursuing a longshot, but it just might pay off later if her hunch was correct. “Leliana wouldn’t have sent this message if she didn’t think the time was coming to make a move. I know this is asking a lot, with the Qunari stepping up their offensive and the Magisterium about to vote―”

“Ellana, sweeting, do you even need to ask?” Dorian spoke softly as he came over and took her hand. He gently squeezed her hand between his, she squeezed back. “Maevaris can handle business here. I’ll need to settle a few things in Minrathous first. You have but to tell me where and when.”

“Thank you, Dorian.” Ellana bowed her head slightly. She felt a slight sting in her eyes. After all this time and everything that had happened, it touched her to know that she still had true friends in this world. For all of his bluster, Dorian was as true as they came. “Can I count on Bull, as well?”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Dorian pulled his hands away from her with a snort. “You can ask him. I haven’t the patience right now.” She noted, however, that he had reached inside the fold of his doublet to finger a small crystal he kept there. He carried two such crystals on him, and each had a counterpart. Ellana carried one, and the Iron Bull the other. He used them for communication over long distances. Sometimes she heard him late at night, speaking and laughing to himself. But not lately. No wonder he’d been in a bad mood before this if he and Bull were having a quarrell.

“I guess I’ll need to borrow another bird, then?” she said, not involving herself in their fight. It went in cycles. They fought, they made up, they had raucous sex to celebrate, and then started up all over again. It was all fairly predictable by now. She knew that they loved each other fiercely and devotedly. They just expressed it...rather dramatically.

And really, she was hardly in a place to criticize. She’d only spent the last three years fighting a shadow war against her former lover.

“Yes, yes, borrow what you need. I’ll have your horse ready within the hour. Assuming the servants haven’t murdered us all by then,” he muttered darkly. Ellana took that as her cue to leave. She gave Dorian a brief hug and kiss on the cheek then went up to the room he’d lent her for the duration of her stay, taking the steps two at a time. Leliana’s message had been coded in a way that was significant only to herself and Ellana so she had reasonable confidence that Solas’s spies couldn’t decode it. It told her that she wanted to meet and where, but the when was open ended. She expected her to reply and give her an approximate date.

Ellana wrote several other messages and personally saw them off from Dorian’s rookery. She hoped they would reach their intended recipients in time, but at this point it was up to luck. She went back to her room to pack up her things. There weren’t many. She travelled light. Mostly, she had notes that she’d taken during her travels here, a few artifacts she’d picked up, her magic staff―personally crafted by Harritt before she’d departed for the north―a wooden hand that strapped on to her left arm and made riding easier, and some spare travelling clothes. Solas’s wolf jawbone necklace. She paused when she reached that. She didn’t dare wear it, but she couldn’t bring herself to discard it. Or burn it in effigy. She’d found it lying on her pillow the day after he’d left her following Corypheus’s defeat. It had gone with her ever since then, usually half-forgotten among her few possessions. She wrapped it in a cotton cloth and tossed it with her other things in the bag.

It all rattled around in her mostly empty saddlebags. A servant arrived with several parcels of preserved food for her travels south, which filled them out some more. They were still largely flat and light when she picked them up and left her room behind.

Dorian alone was waiting for her in the stables. True to his word, her horse, Prois, was saddled and ready to depart. He helped her attach the saddlebags in silence, before squeezing her hand.

“Are you certain you don’t want to go to Minrathous with me? I can show you all the seedy parts. The best parts, really. I know it’s been quite some time since you―”

“I’m needed elsewhere right now,” she said, interrupting him before he could finish that thought. He laughed anyway, grinning that devilish grin of his at her.

“If you ever reconsider, I know a lad who has the most amazing―”

“Thank you for everything, Dorian. We’ll see each other again soon.” She hugged him tightly, and he relented in trying to scandalize her when he squeezed her back. He helped her up on her horse and saw her off through the gate. The wind whipped through her hair as she set off. If she made good time, she’d make it to Orlais in a little over two weeks.

Dorian’s estate became smaller and smaller behind her as she rode on. When she looked back to see it disappearing out of sight, she still saw the glint of jewels that told her Dorian was still watching her back.


	3. Sister Nightingale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friend brings her up to speed.

“Do I want to know how you got this information?” Ellana stared down at the notes in front of her. She’d been in Valence less than an hour before being ushered to a small building just outside the chantry cloister to meet with a woman who was most definitely not Her Holiness Divine Victoria. The main room was dimly lit by just a few candles and faint wisps conjured by Ellana herself. Several foolhardy moths circled the flickering candlelights, only daring to go so close before the flame forced them to back away. A few chairs were scattered haphazardly around a table that wobbled when so much as a breeze passed through the room.

Ellana was sitting, sorting through the papers in her hand as she tried to make sense of what was on them. Being in Tevinter for so long, so had only been able to receive snippets of information from her companions in Southern Thedas. Leliana mistrusted Dorian’s speaking crystals, forcing them to communicate by conventional messengers who could only be trusted so much. She was trying to take in six month’s worth of reports in the short time she had to rest here. Parts of the reports―the where, the who―were quite detailed. That was information that could be obtained through normal means. But other parts….

“You know I have my ways.” The woman across the table from her, dressed in the simple robes of a Chantry lay sister, brushed it off with an enigmatic shrug. Elanna frowned. There were too many gaps in the information they had, far too many for her to feel comfortable making her plans from it. Finally, Leliana relented and leaned over the table to pull some of the papers out of her hand. “It is not as unsavory as you might think. Sera’s particular _diversions_ told us a great deal about how the Wolf’s army is organized.”

Ellana held back a snort. Sera’s diversions, little more than one-woman raids, usually involved fire, arrows, and no small amount of bees. “What did they tell us, then?”

“That Solas is clever.” Leliana picked out a piece of paper from the pile and laid it on top for Ellana to read. “It didn’t take many raids before he turned it back on us to probe our reaction.” Ellana skimmed over the report. Sera was lucky to have gotten away. But was it luck, or just another message? She set the report aside and considered.

“You sound like you admire him.”

“He managed to fool everyone, even me. He plays the Game at a level the Empress herself couldn’t match. He used you to clean up his mistakes with Corypheus and to foil the Viddasala’s plot without breaking a sweat. If nothing else, we should respect that. He is a consummate liar, the kind that can lie with the truth.”

“Yes, he is that.” An odd, unpleasant feeling dug deep in the pit of Ellana’s stomach. She felt Leliana’s eyes on her, knew what she was trying to say without saying it at all. She swallowed hard past the lump in her throat and met her eyes with a hard look. She had told no one but Leliana of the dream visits she used to receive, and even then she’d left out certain details. After a moment, Leliana relented and moved on.

“We know that the Wolf’s army has grown considerably. It’s no longer the secret it once was. No organization can grow that much, that fast without springing a few leaks.” The was no rebuke in the former spymaster’s voice, but Ellana winced all the same, still stinging over the last remarks when this fresh salt was rubbed on. Leliana placed a hand on her arm gently, acknowledging this turnaround before continuing. “The Marquise of the Dales remembers who helped her gain her title and has provided us with a few useful lines of information, in addition to my own sources.”  

“By that you mean Briala doesn’t want to lose the power she’s gained these past few years,” Ellana remarked dryly. The Orlesians and their games. If it worked to their advantage for once, she wasn’t going to complain overly much. “Did you make contact with that somniari friend of Varric’s I told you about?”

“Yes. He has been a valuable source, but we don’t yet know how reliable he is. Most of it corroborates with what Trainer and the other Rift Mages were able to tell us, but….” She shrugged. “It is difficult to know how to proceed when  one is dealing with ancient Elvhen magics. Morrigan is still missing, and we must be wary of who we consult.” She paused. “I passed what I have been able to gather to some of our mutual friends, but I would rather not have too many eyes on this.”

Elanna nodded again. Leliana had ruthlessly compartmentalized the flow of information among her agents in the past few years. It left them with fewer resources, but it made them less likely to trip over their own feet if some of their agents were to be compromised. Again. And she knew that Leliana was keeping some of her sources of information specifically hidden from her as a last resort in case her former lover had his claws in deeper than she realized. It hurt, even knowing how coldly practical it was.

“Before I left for Tevinter, I heard talk of calling for an Exalted March,” Ellana brought up, eying her friend quizzically. “Did anything ever come of that?”

“No. I made sure of it.” There was a glint of steel in Leliana’s eyes. It was rumored that she would plant ideas in the college of clerics in order to get ahead of them and control how they played out. Looking at her now, Ellana was certain she had done so with the rumors of an Exalted March. “An Exalted March on the basis of a rumor would be disastrous. I will not alienate the elves and have another Second Exalted March on our hands. The Chantry instead debates whether the newest Qunari offensives against Tevinter constitutes a threat against southern Thedas.”

Ellana nodded, honestly impressed. Leliana was right that declaring a holy war against the disappearing elves would lead to purges and pogroms of the elves who stayed behind, only strengthening Solas’s hand. Her people had too long been oppressed and beaten by the humans. In fact she found it hard to blame the ones who joined the Wolf’s army, like Avia. She had been a freedwoman, but that wasn’t much better than being a slave in Tevinter. Anything was better than the life many of them were living. Ellana just took something of an exception to potentially bringing down an apocalypse to accomplish it.

“Have you had any further luck with the Dalish?” Leliana asked, uncharacteristically hesitant like she expected it to be a sore subject. She wasn’t wrong.

Ellana tried not to sigh and put down the rest of the papers. “I’ve tried. Outside of my own clan, I haven’t been able to make any inroads. I spoke with a few on my way here from Qarinus. There’s been no change from the last time I tried. Those that haven’t gone off to join him still don’t trust me. I’ve spent too much time with the humans, they think.” Her remaining hand touched her cheek, tracing intricate lines where her vallaslin once were. To the rest of the Dalish, she was little better than a City Elf or Tevinter slave now. Barefaced. No longer a keeper of the lost lore, a walker of the lonely path. “It probably doesn’t help that I am on a first-name basis with the Divine,” she finished with a wry smile that she gave, rather than felt.

She wasn’t as good as concealing as she had thought, because Leliana quickly changed the subject to something a little less uncomfortable.

“Grand Enchanter Vivienne has agreed to provide a few mages she trusts from her circle.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised she’s agreed to help us. If Solas succeeds in tearing down the Veil, she’ll have nowhere to expand her power base,” Ellana said, amused. Her relationship with the ambitious enchanter was fraught with disagreements, but they respected one another well enough. Well enough to work with each other during world-ending crises, at least.

“The mages she’s lending to our cause, you should know that they’re Tranquil.”

Ellana look up sharply, a twist of horror knotting in her stomach. Leliana’s expression was grim, but there was a certain satisfaction to it as well. Her reforms in the Chantry had sharply curbed the use of the horrific rite that severed mages from the Fade.

“These ones were made Tranquil before the Mage-Templar war. They didn’t feel they had a place in the new order, but Vivienne’s rebuilt Circle took them in along with many of their brethren. They volunteered to help when Vivienne asked, or so she says,” Leliana said, in answer to the question Ellana had been about to ask.

Ellana tapped the top of the table with her wooden hand, considering. It made a dull thudding sound. As a mage, the Tranquil made her deeply uneasy. But there was a silverite lining in this. “We can use this, I think. Their severed connection to the Fade could be an advantage against an opponent like Solas.”

Leliana nodded with approval. “I had the same thought. Speaking of the Fade, has he…?” She looked over the table, her head tilting in askance.

Ellana shook her head. “No. Not for some time.” The cryptic message she’d received in Qarinus weighed on her, but she kept it to herself.

“I suppose it’s too much to hope that he confessed all of his plans to you so we could foil them.  No, he must make us do all the work ourselves.” Leliana gave a long suffering sigh, drawing a snort from Ellana. “Did you find what you were looking for in Tevinter?”

“I think so. Maybe. I brought back some things that I wanted to take a closer look at. It’s a pity Morrigan can’t be found.” The two women shared a glance. Given the revelations of the past few years, Morrigan’s knowledge of ancient elven history amounted to little more than folklore, but she was still a font of useful information. Her presence would have been a mixed blessing, however. No one knew what effect drinking from the Well of Sorrows would have on her. Ellana hoped that she and Kieran had found a safe haven somewhere on Thedas.

”Where will you go after this?”

“Skyhold.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Leliana quirked an eyebrow at her.

“I know it was his fortress once upon a time, but he hasn’t tried to reclaim it. It’s been abandoned since the Inquisition disbanded. I’ve sent word to our friends and some people I trust. Dorian is wrapping up some business in Tevinter before he takes a...what did he call it? A sabbatical. Bull and his men won’t be far behind. Sera and Varric managed to get messages to me that they were on their way. Varric said he’s bringing someone with him that he wants me to meet.” She tapped a finger against the table with each name she ticked off. Josephine was busy in Antiva, and Cullen was likely already at the ancient fortress preparing for her arrival.

“Thom and Cole?”

“Cole...hasn’t been seen.” Ellana gnawed on her lower lip. The absence of the spirit of Compassion weighed on her more than she cared to admit. She had made friends with the odd boy when the Inquisition had been at its height. But then again, so had Solas. “I haven’t heard from Thom. I tried contacting Weisshaupt, but they never sent word back.”

Leliana looked properly worried at that. The Grey Wardens held a special place in her heart and the disarray the organization had been in since Corypheus had co-opted so many of them weighed on her. It was Ellana’s turn to change the subject.

“What about Cassandra?”

Leliana’s face took on a sly, secretive look and she flashed a half-smile at the elf. “The Right Hand is busy with the Seekers of the Truth,” was all she said. Ellana puzzled at this. She was up to something, and knew that asking further would only result in more evasive answers.

“Very well,” she said grudgingly. She supposed she would find out soon enough. “I suppose I’ve kept you here long enough. You must be be itching to get back to Val Royeaux.”

“Why, Inquisitor, as far as the rest of Thedas knows, Divine Victoria never left the Grand Cathedral.” Leliana gave her another sly look. In the past several years, some things had not changed at all.  



	4. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She returns to Skyhold.

“Your boyfriend’s a real tit, you know that?” was the first thing Sera greeted her with when Ellana arrived at Skyhold several weeks later. The blond elf had evidently been at the hold for some time before Ellana came riding up, and had been waiting to ambush her in the gatehouse with her opinions. She’d swung down from the wall and landed right in her path with an impressive glowering look. “Not, like, the good kind of tit. You know, the kind that, well…” Sera giggled to herself then abruptly became serious again. “The  _ bad _ kind of tit. Messed with my arrows something bad. And my beeeees.” She drew out the last word and glared, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I...I’m sorry?” Ellana said when it appeared Sera was waiting for a response. The dizzying and  _ unique  _ way Sera spoke still left her confused and bemused at times. The younger woman  _ hmph _ ed, but otherwise accepted her apology. Ellana threw her leg over Prois and climbed down. She patted the horse’s flank, murmuring a quiet promise to find her some apples if there were any to be had in Skyhold. Prois nudged her gently with her nose, perhaps moved to show affection by the promise of apples.

“Anyway, glad you’re here and stuff,” Sera shuffled alongside her as she led Prois across the courtyard to the stables. The  _ clip-clop _ of the horse’s hooves echoed eerily across the nearly empty fortress. Five years ago, this place had been vibrant with people and their noise. The quiet gossip of the courtiers that had come to see her (and ask her favors).  The loud voices of the merchants haggling over the price of their wares. The din and clash of swords as the soldiers in their smartly designed uniforms trained and barked orders at each other. Bull’s Charger’s laughing and drinking well before a socially appropriate hour of the day. The distant clang of the smithy.

Now the merchant stalls were abandoned, Bull and his Chargers were at least a week out, the smithy fires were cold, and there wasn’t a single courtier in sight. A handful of non-uniformed soldiers, those who had never quite settled into restful lives after the Inquisition and had jumped at Cullen’s offer of a new job, milled around the courtyard organizing crates of supplies. She had chosen this, to disband the Inquisition to reduce the risk of her organization falling to corruption and the threat of Solas’s spies. It was simpler like this. Fewer world-upending decisions to make, less guilt to shoulder when everything went to the Void.

“I’m glad you’re here, too, Sera.” They walked along in silence until Prois was comfortable in the stables. A handful of other horses were already there and someone had thoughtfully left a fresh bale of hay near the empty stall usually reserved for her personal mounts. “Who else is here?”

“Cullen, Harritt, Dagna, Harding, Cabot of all people. A few others I don’t really know. Been here for a bit, working on gettin’ the rats cleared out mostly. Looots of rats.” 

“I’ll be sure to watch my step.” She reached over to unstrap the saddle from Prois. Before the Inquisition had formally disbanded, Master Dennet commissioned a custom saddle for her that was designed for one-handed use that made it possible to travel alone. She hoped that the horse master was back on his Hinterlands farm with his wife and family. He deserved that much after all he’d given the Inquisition.

“Heard Varric’s coming.”

“He should be here in another week or two. From his last message, it didn’t sound like he was travelling light.”

“Riiight. ‘Cause he’s the vis-thingy of Kirkwall now. Big ol’ nob. Gotta have...things. And stuff with him wherever he goes. It’s alright, though. Make it a bit noisier here, I guess.” Sera shivered, looking around the mostly abandoned fortress. Ellana felt a surge of sympathy. It was far too quiet here.

“How is Dagna? I meant to thank her for the rune analysis she did for me.”

“She’s good. Better than good. Shut it. Anyway, she’s around somewhere. Probably the undercroft. My Widdle’s always working.” A blush crept across Sera’s cheeks. Ellana had to resist the urge to tease her.

“I’m glad, you know. She makes you happy.” She jostled the other woman’s shoulder

Sera muttered something incomprehensible under her breath. There might have been a “thanks” in there, but it was hard to tell. She set off back to the gatehouse to keep watch for new arrivals, and Ellana crept into Skyhold through the kitchens. No one was in it, and no fires burned in the great stone hearths. A small pile of rubbish, including a few dead rats, had been swept into a corner of the fireplace and unopened crates of preserved food sat near the tables. 

A single small bag of apples sat in the corner near the door. The fruits were small and mealy, picked too soon from their trees and transported too far way. It was the wrong time of year for apples. But there were very few signs of worms or rot. Prois would simply have to make do with runty, wilted fruit.

 

* * *

 

Dorian arrived later the next week, declaring loudly that the fortress could really use a new bout of renovations after its short abandonment. He was followed a few days later by the Iron Bull and his Chargers. The two made a show of avoiding each other’s company for two whole days, but the lights left on late in Bull’s room one night shortly after that told Ellana that the they had resolved whatever quarrel they’d been having. 

The courtyard rang with sound once more. Cullen and Krem arranged to have their fighters train with each other. Ellana noted that Skinner was no longer with the Chargers, and asking about it just resulted in surly grunts from most of the company. Dalish appeared to have gone selectively deaf on the subject and merely asked Ellana if she wanted to trade “archery” tips when she brought it up.

Three weeks after her homecoming at Skyhold, Ellana had settled herself at the edge of the courtyard to watch the latest bout. Grim was facing off against Rylen, both with blunted greatswords in hand. Rylen was faster, but Grim was more powerful. The former knight-captain pivoted quickly on his feet, swinging the sword at the bigger man’s legs. Grim brought his sword down to block the swing and leaned forward to headbutt his opponent. He was clearly pulling his punches but it still left Rylen looking dazed.

Rylen recovered quickly and brought the greatsword up for a great swinging strike. A commotion from the gatehouse distracted Ellana from seeing Grim’s reaction. Whatever he did attracted groans from Cullen’s people and cheers from the Chargers. Out of the corner of her eye, though, she saw Harding hand a gold Royal to Krem. A large party was arriving, headed up by a dwarf on a shaggy pony with an outsized crossbow strapped to his back.

“Varric!” Ellana sprinted down to the gatehouse.

Varric swung down from his mount, a grin parting his face from ear to ear. He returned Ellana’s hug, even though he could only reach her shoulders.

“Lefty,” he greeted. She laughed.

“How long have you been waiting to call me that?”

“Three years, give or take a few days. How ya doing?” 

“I’ve been well. How about you?”

Varric looked at her oddly, like he was going to ask her something else, but then he shrugged. He led his pony into the courtyard. Several soldiers wearing the livery of Kirkwall’s city guard filed in, accompanied by two mages. There was a vaguely familiar looking human with dark hair, brown eyes and a blue silk scarf around her neck. And there was a Dalish elf, with short black hair and startlingly green eyes. They were followed by a large covered caravan pulled by a bronto. She looked at the caravan, then turned to Varric in askance.

“Supplies, mostly. Bunch of copies of my newest book in case the Seeker shows up,” he answered with a shrug so casual she was certain he was lying. He gave her a very slight shake of his head. She shot him a look in return, then turned to look at the people who had come with him. “Allow me to introduce you. Guard Captain Aveline insisted on sending some of her men with me. Their names are Grumpy, Finicky, and Snarky.” He pointed at the guards in turn. The one he’d named Snarky opened her mouth to protest the names, but Varric was already moving on.

“And these two are friends of mine. Daisy, stop gawking and say hi to the Inquisitor.” The Dalish elf was, indeed, gawking at the ancient fortress. The sound of her name brought her back to the present.

“Pardon me. Is this an Elvhen structure? It looks very old. How did you find this? Did you do the restoration yourself? Oh, hello, Inquisitor.  _ Andaran atish’an _ . I’m Merrill,” she said when the other mage nudged her. 

“ _ Aneth ara _ . I’m not the Inquisitor anymore. You can just call me Ellana, lately of Clan Lavellan. Are you  _ the _ Merrill, from Varric’s  _ Tales of the Champion _ ?” Ellana asked. Meeting another one of the vaunted Champion’s companions was….well, it was an experience.

“Yes, I suppose I am. I’m from clan...well, I don’t really have a clan anymore, I suppose. Where are your vallaslin?” Merrill stared at her bare face, her great green eyes wide with astonishment. “Did it hurt when they were removed? Oh, that was probably rude, wasn’t it.” Off to the side, Varric groaned and ground his face into his palm.

“No, it’s no worry. It’s a long story about the vallaslin. It will have to wait until later.” She turned to the other mage, who was regarding her with a look she couldn’t quite decode. Varric cleared his throat.

“Lefty, meet Bethany Hawke.” Varric stepped back, seeming to want to get out of the way of the meeting.

“Oh.” Ellana looked down at her feet, trying to gather her thoughts. So that was why she looked familiar. Why hadn’t Varric told her who he was bringing? “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bethany. Your sister, Marian, she spoke very fondly of you….” Ellana foundered, unsure of what else she could say.  _ I’m sorry I left your sister in the Fade?  _ No, that probably wouldn’t go over well.

Bethany gave her another indecipherable look. “Varric speaks highly of you,” was all she said, then went back to the caravan to check that the covers on it remained secure.

“That could have gone worse,” Varric said cheerfully. 

Later that day, after Varric and his retinue had been settled in and welcomed with a meal that mostly consisted of the provisions Varric himself supplied, Ellana slipped out of the great hall with the intention of getting a breath of fresh air. Before she realized what she was doing, she found herself heading for the battlements through the rotunda. She stopped with her hands on the door. She’d avoided this room since her arrival. It had too much of Solas in it.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself. The door creaked open with a slight push.

Someone had draped a cloth over his desk and the chaise near the door. The scaffolding he’d used to create the frescoes had been dismantled for use elsewhere in the hold. Other than that, it was exactly how he’d left it. She pulled the cloth covering the chaise aside and sat. The feast had been mostly jovial, but in the lulls in conversation she could see Merrill gaping at her bare face and Bethany’s odd, searching looks. It had been an exhausting day and she needed to get away.

The frescoes still looked as fresh as the day he’d painted them. In hindsight, the fact that they looked so much like the remaining examples of Elvhen art made so much sense. One of the pictures showed the sword of the Inquisition flanked by howling wolves. She stared at that one until her eyes watered. Had he been trying to give her a clue, even then?

The one part of the wall not covered in colorful images drew her eyes next. There were the beginnings of a new panel, but he’d left before he could finish it. A lone wolf,  bearing down on a dragon that was trapped by a sword through its foot. What had he meant by it? Intuitively, she felt that it wasn’t a representation of the battle with Corypheus. Had he been trying to tell her something else?

Her eyes began to droop closed as she contemplated the meaning. She laid down on the chaise and folded her legs to keep them from dangling off the end. As she drifted off to sleep, she thought she felt a soft brush of a hand on her shoulder and someone saying, “Sleeping helps.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still with me, thank you for reading. I have about 25-26 chapters plotted out in total. I'm hoping I can keep up this pace and get this story out of my head!


	5. Our Dreams, Ourselves (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She dreams of him in the Fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put the first (NSFW) half of this chapter up a while ago to test the waters, and got such a positive response that it encouraged me to keep working on this story.
> 
> In context, it's rather more bittersweet than it initially appeared.
> 
> I'm nearing the end of what I already have written, so updates will likely be more sporadic from here on out.

In the Fade, she was in Skyhold as it had been.

Ellana was deep in thought, standing in front of her desk with her back to the stairs, looking down at the proposals her advisers had sent her. The matter was not particularly urgent, but she felt the need to keep her mind occupied. The bulk of Cullen’s soldiers were deployed on a mission in the Free Marches. She was expecting to hear back from them any day now, but in the meantime it meant she had to choose between Josephine and Leliana’s suggestions. One leaned heavily in the silence-all-witnesses direction, the other relied upon manipulating the Olesian nobles and trusting that their self-interest would do the work for her. Neither murder nor putting her faith in the humans were immediately appealing.

The soft click and creak of the door at the base of the stairs, followed by a tentative knock on the doorframe drew her from her thoughts.

“Enter,” she called over her shoulder, then turned back to her desk and listened to the soft footfalls that came up the steps.

“Ellana?” A voice called softly from the top of the stairs.

Ellana sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose in exhaustion. Tension rose up in her shoulders. This wasn’t the messenger she’d been expecting. “Please go, Solas. I don’t want to continue this argument tonight.”

“I don’t wish to quarrel with you, _vhenan_. I came to apologize.” There was something in his voice that made her turn her head to look at him. He stood at the stop of the stairs, one hand perched lightly on the railing. He looked at her with a mixture of uncertainty and concern and...something else that she couldn’t quite decipher. He was never an easy one to read, and he rarely gave her clues to what was going on behind those impassive grey eyes. But the doubt written on his face gave her pause. It wasn’t like him to be less than confident. They stood there, looking at each other in an awkward silence.

“Well?” She prompted, finally breaking it. He took several steps toward her, looking abashed.

But when he opened his mouth, the expected apology did not come. Instead, he glanced at her desk and asked, “Has there been word from Wycome yet?”

Ellana grunted her frustration and turned her back to him, pretending that the missives on her desk demanded more of her attention than they really did. “No,” she said curtly. “I’m surprised you even cared to ask,” she said, the words tumbling out bitterly before she could stop them. He took another step toward her, then stopped, rocking on his heels.

“I won’t say I didn’t deserve that,” he admitted. “I know you care for your clan, and the uncertainty of their fate weighs heavily on you.”

“But they’re Dalish, so what do you care about them?” And there it was, the heart of the argument.

“I care,” he said heavily, and there was a note of intensity in his voice that he usually reserved for speaking of his adventures in the Fade or the glories of the past. “‘ _Ma ’lath_ , I care because they are your kin.” He closed the distance between them and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I apologize for what I said before, Ellana. It was ill-considered. The more time I spend with you, the more I begin to see the Dalish through your eyes. It has been...educational.”

She kept her back turned to him, but her anger was beginning to melt and slip through her fingers. “I’m glad I could provide you with an academic experience,” she snarked at him, but there wasn’t much bite to it. He was so close to her now, she could feel his warm breath on her shoulder.

“You are more than that to me,” he murmured throatily, lowering his mouth to plant a soft kiss on the back of her neck. She shivered despite standing so close to the fire. The hand on her shoulder pulled her closer so her back pressed against his chest.

“You mock my people for our supposed ignorance, but then say little that would help us. Sometimes I don’t know where I stand with you, Solas.” Still, she leaned into him, sighing when one arm wrapped around her waist. He swayed gently on his feet, pulling her along with him.

“Perhaps one day―when this is all over, when there is time―we can explore the Fade together. I can show you what I have seen.” He planted more kisses on her shoulder, her neck, all the way up to the tip of her ear. A knot she had been carrying in her stomach, carrying for so long she’d forgotten it was even there, unwound.

“You’ve never spoken of an _after_ , before,” she whispered, reaching up to grab the hand still on her shoulder. With him, it was always the past. He lived for it, gloried in it. To hear him speak of the future….

Her thoughts took an abrupt turn when his other hand reached up and started working the clasps of her shirt and his hips pressed insistently against her back.

“Don’t think I’m not still m―” she started to say, but the words were lost to a gasp when he reached into her shirt, now hanging loosely from her shoulders, and found one of her breasts. Anger slid away and pooled on the ground, like her shirt and swiftly followed by her pants and smallclothes. She turned so they were facing each other, her bare buttocks leaning on the edge of her desk. Her own hands were not idle, helping him shed his clothes to meet hers on the ground. Lips met, crashing passionately against each other. Hands explored, delighted in each others bodies. One leg hooked around his waist, bringing him closer.

He kissed a trail across her jawline, pausing to nip lightly at her earlobe. She shuddered as he stroked the inside of her thigh. Her legs parted for him of their own accord, it seemed, just as her hand reached down to caress his hardening length without her really thinking about it. He buried his face against her collarbone and groaned out something that sounded like her name while thrusting against her hand. “You don’t know what you do to me, _vhenan_ ,” he murmured, running two of his fingers slowly over her entrance.

“I have a pretty good idea.” She curled her her fingers around him, delighting in the shudder it drew from him. He gave as good as he got, she thought, as he slid his fingers inside of her. She pulled herself close to him and muffled a moan against his shoulder as he ground his palm against her most sensitive areas. Already, she could feel a fiery pleasure begin to burn in her core.

He slid his fingers out and gently drew her hand away, positioning himself at her entrance. But there he waited, drawing up her chin so he could look at her face. Ellana didn’t think she had ever seen him look so intensely at her. She opened her mouth to ask him what he was thinking of, but the words drowned when he took her mouth in a passionate kiss that left her breathless. He pushed his hips forward, slowly pushing against her entrance. She pulled herself closer, wrapping both legs around his waist to bring him further in.

He surged within her, against her, slowly at first, but soon with enough force to shake the legs of the desk they were so precariously perched on. She moved her hips in time with him, gasping against him with each thrust. The fires within her core burned hotter and higher with each movement, each kiss he peppered on her face and neck, each murmured word that escaped his lips. He bore a look of intense concentration, seeming determined to bring her to her peak, maintaining his thin veneer of self-control even when they made love like this. But it was hard to contemplate what that might mean. Not with him nipping over the pulse point at her throat. Not with him brushing his thumb over her nub just like  _ that. _

Pleasure crashed over her in a wave so overwhelming it blurred the edges of her vision. His thrusts became erratic before he pulled out of her with a hoarse groan and briefly stroked himself to completion, spilling himself on her desk.

He leaned down to kiss her again, then touched his forehead to hers. They were both covered in a slick layer of sweat, gasping for breath in each other’s arms.

“ _‘Ma vhen’an_ ,” he enunciated the words carefully and softly, cradling her to him.

“I love you, too.” She pulled him down for another kiss. “Next time, however, please try not to make such a mess on my desk?”

They both looked down, to where the notes she had arranged so carefully earlier were sticky with sweat and his seed. Laughter erupted from somewhere deep in his chest. At first, she was startled―he so rarely laughed. After a moment, she couldn’t help but get carried along in his genuine moment of good humor.

“Apologies, _vhenan_. I will try to be more careful in the future.” He chuckled and held her to him as she playfully swatted his arm.

“Promises, promises.” She swatted at his arm again, but he caught her wrist with a wolfish grin and kissed her hand, murmuring something in Elvhen that she couldn’t quite translate. Something about the sky, she thought. Perhaps one day, she’d ask him about it. One day, when he wasn’t kissing her breathless all over again.

 

* * *

 

Ellana stepped out of herself, marveling at how surreal it was to see herself like this in the Fade. She looked down at her hands—two of them, here in the Fade—and then back at herself, her younger and rather more naked self. It had to be her memory because it had played out  exactly as she remembered it. She circled the desk, watching herself and Solas locked in a frozen embrace. This memory…. It had been the first time she’d allowed herself to believe they could have a future together. How young she had been then.

How naive.

“I see you’ve found this memory, too,” a voice said from behind her, and she jumped. Solas was just sitting there on the couch near the stairs, dressed in the same tattered tunic, breeches, and jawbone necklace he had always worn at Skyhold. But it wasn’t the same. _He_ wasn’t the same. Now that he was no longer hiding who he was, power emanated from him like heat from a fire. The subtle differences between the two Solases―the one from her memory and the one before her now―sent chills down her spine. She looked over at the frozen image of her memory and then back at him, feeling her face flush bright red and the nonsensical urge to cover herself even though she was fully clothed. This was somehow obscene. It felt like an invasion.

“How long…? Did you bring me here?” she demanded. It had to be a trick to throw her off balance. How dare he do this to her, after being gone for so long. Remind her of the happier times before renewing the mental battle they had fought so often. But a look of confusion briefly crossed his face. She blinked slowly. This was new.

“No. I suppose I was thinking of this moment before I drifted off to sleep and my mind found its own way here in the Fade.” This seemed to trouble him. He frowned, that little crease forming between his eyebrows as it always did when he was deep in thought. He tapped his chin and looked past her at the still memory. “I wonder…. No, I would have known.” What he would have known, he kept to himself despite the irritated look she cast at him.  He shrugged sat back in the couch, casually draping his arms on the back of it.

“It’s been some time, Ellana. You look well,” he commented casually, like they’d just run into each other at a gathering.

“Which one of me?” she asked in a wry voice, fighting to keep her blush reaction under control. She wasn’t sure if she could believe him when he said he didn’t plan this, but it certainly wasn’t stopping him from using it to his advantage to try and break down her barriers.

“I cannot say I mind the woman in your memory, _vhenan_ , but she is little more than a shadow of the woman you are now.” He chuckled and waved his hand. She felt an odd tingle on the back of her neck as the Fade rippled. When she looked behind her, the image of them cradled together had disappeared and the desk was cleared of all the notes.

“How are you finding Skyhold?” he asked with a casualness that belied the serious implications of the question. Of course he knew she’d returned. He chuckled. “I don’t have spies there, if that’s what you’re wondering. It just seems the logical place for you to go.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t tried to reclaim it for yourself, since it used to be yours.” She made a mental note to meet with Cullen and the Iron Bull to vet everyone at Skyhold. Again.

He shook his head. “I have no need of it. Besides, I think it fitting for you.

“Come, sit. We haven’t spoken since well before you left for Tevinter.” He patted the couch next to him but she shook her head and dragged a heavy chair over from her desk. It made a satisfyingly obnoxious sound as the wooden legs screeched along the flagstones. She brought it to a rest and sat across from him, leaving the small end table between them. He frowned, but didn’t press the matter. “How is our friend the magister?”

She had to suppress a laugh. “I don’t see why you’re asking me. Last I knew he was looking for a new serving woman, though.”

“I see you got my message, then.” He nodded approvingly. _Knight takes queen_. Three words. Short, and ominous. How very typical of him.

“I didn’t hear from you for a year, then you send me your message and now this.” She gestured around the room. “Why now?”

“This meeting was not planned,” he shook his head, but she wasn’t convinced. “The message in Qarinus, I imagine, was for the same reason as the message from Sister Nightingale. It’s all moving quite fast now, _vhenan_.”

“Should you still be calling me that? We’re at odds with each other, if you hadn’t noticed. Professing your love for the enemy leader might be a conflict of interest. Think of the gossip,” she said lightly, shifting uncomfortably. Being around him, hearing him call her _vhenan_ , it twisted the knife that had been in her gut for years now. The pain of him leaving, of finding out who he really was and setting them of a course to oppose each other, would never fully heal as long as he kept coming to see her, but she couldn’t bring herself to send him away.

“Ellana, I never stopped loving you.” His voice, the intent way he looked at her, it reminded her strongly of the man who had come to this room to apologize and make love to her on the desk. Who held her at night and helped guard her dreams. Who whispered sweetly to her when he thought no one was looking. Who kissed her when he took away her vallaslin, and then broke her heart. Her breath caught in her throat, but Leliana’s voice echoed in her ears, telling her what she already knew. _He is a consummate liar_ , _the kind that can lie with the truth._

“This memory,” he went on with a faraway look, “it is...very meaningful to me. Your anger at me for my thoughtless remarks affected me far more than I believed possible. It was when I realized how much you had come to mean to me.” He gazed off thoughtfully out the windows, reminding her once again of the apostate she’d had to coax out of his heady dream worlds to spend time with her. It dawned on her that it was hard for him to admit these things to her.

“How much could I possibly mean to you when you refuse to listen to reason?” Her voice was as raw as her heart.

“I can no more abandon the People than you can abandon yours, Ellana,” he said gently with just a touch of sadness. “I regret that we are on opposing sides, but neither of us will abandon our duties. I know better than to try and convince you otherwise by now,” he said with a rueful smile that twisted in her heart.  He waved his hand again and a wooden chess board appeared on the table between them. Of course. She should have known that he would try and coax her into a game while they were here. He leaned forward eagerly, waving at her to take the first move.

“Are you certain you’re doing your people any favors by trying to bring back Elvhenan?” she asked, picking up a white pawn and thoughtfully moving it forward on the board. Here in the Fade, he could have conjured a chess set made of silverite and onyx on a board carved in ivory and inlaid with fine metals and jewels. The one he drew from the Fade was identical to the one Thom had carved for her and that Solas and Cullen had taught her to play on. The pieces had been carefully hewn from pines trees near Haven, and the stain on the black pieces was wearing thin from use.

“Tearing down the Veil should restore magic and immortality to the People who remain. It will not restore all of Elvhenan.” He countered by moving one of his own pawns.

“You’ve said yourself that it will wreak destruction on the world as it is.” Her cleric moved across to the middle of the board, and he moved a knight. The game was a shield that she embraced to keep a semblance of civility in their argument. If not for it, she thought she would probably be tearing her hair out and screaming at him to come to his senses.

“The collateral damage will likely be...unfortunate. I take no pleasure in it. But sometimes to achieve the world one desires, one must take regrettable measures. You know that more than most.” He sighed, and they traded several more moves.

“Cleric takes knight,” she commented, removing one of his dark pieces from the board. “Your ‘collateral damage’ will destroy most, if not all, of the kingdoms and countries of Thedas.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” He thought for a moment, then moved his queen to overtake her cleric. “The human kingdoms have done nothing but dance upon the graves of the Elvhen.”

“Apart from the death of untold thousands, it doesn’t seem like a bad idea to bring down the heavens and create such a large power vacuum?” Several more turns passed before she was able to remove one of his clerics with her remaining one, which he promptly took with one of his pawns.

“Hmmm?” He didn’t look up from the board, but she could tell he was intrigued, as he always was when she came found a new line of logic to use against him. It somehow managed to be endearing and infuriating at the same time.

“Look what happened when you locked the Evanuris away. The Tevinters came and destroyed what was left of Elvhenan.” They were still trading moves, both of them positioning their pieces on the board. Neither of them had lost more than a handful so far.

He looked up at her through hooded eyes, and there was no mistaking the pleased smile he gave her. He approved. “What do you think would happen in such a power vacuum, my love?”

“Heroes and tyrants emerge from dark times.” Josephine, wherever she was in Antiva, was probably doing a dance of joy. Those history lessons she’d patiently sat through with the diplomat were finally paying off. “You don’t want to be a tyrant like the Evanuris, but once the world is in chaos no one will be powerful enough to stop you from becoming one.” She paused long enough to move her queen to take his tower and place her within range of his king. “Check.”

“You insult me, Ellana.” There was a hard edge to his voice. No, he did not like being compared to the Evanuris at all. That much hadn’t changed, at least. He moved in with a pawn to take her queen, removing the immediate danger to his king.

“I’m trying to talk you out of going down their path, Solas.” She was looking down at the board so he wouldn’t see the tears that threatened to well up in her eyes, but she heard his sharp intake of breath and saw the slight shake of his hand when he removed the queen from the board. Good. She pressed further. “Did you not tell me that they were once war heroes, but that power and immortality corrupted them? Even if you don’t emerge a tyrant, others might.” She moved a single pawn.

“It is a risk I have to be willing to take if I am to restore what I took from you. From the world.” He said passionately, maneuvering a knight within striking distance of her king, setting the piece down harder than he needed to. “Check.”

“You don’t have to level the whole world to atone, love. You don’t have to destroy yourself.”

"This is about more than my own mistakes."

"Then what is it about?" She pushed her pawn forward just one square. His king was trapped between the edge of the board and one of his clerics. “Checkmate.”

“Hmph.” He sat back again in the couch, rubbing his chin and gazing at the board. “I believe that is the first time you have bested me. Congratulations, _vhenan_. Not many would think to sacrifice their queen as you did.” He looked...impressed? Ellana felt herself flush again. It wasn’t a fair victory. Not when she had deliberately riled him in order to distract him from her pawn and she said as much.

“Arlathan had a saying. The Orlesians have a similar one, I believe. ‘All’s fair in love and war’.” He chuckled, seeming genuinely pleased. “I suspect we’ve lingered here long enough. We both have duties that demand our attention in the waking world.” They both stood up, which struck her as odd since they were in a dream. All they had to do to leave was wake up.

“I’ve missed you.” The words tumbled from her mouth in a rush. He looked down at her tenderly.

“And I you, _‘ma’lath_.” The back of his hand gently brushed her cheek. She leaned into the touch, allowing herself to give in a little. But the touch of his hand in the Fade lacked the warmth of his real hands. “I have no doubt we’ll see each other again soon.”


	6. The Viscount's Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric tells a tale.

“You got a minute, Lefty?”

Ellana looked up from her task of placing little green markers on the map of Thedas in the old War Room. Varric was leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. She’d made the room her office since her arrival back at Skyhold. It seemed odd to continue calling it the War Room when only Cullen had been able to return out of all her advisors, but the name stuck. Perhaps it was fitting. With the Inquisition’s political power deliberately cast aside, the people that remained were trying to craft themselves into a surgical instrument of war.

She missed Josephine’s steadying, peaceful hand. She missed Leliana’s blunt pragmatism. But they were both where they needed to be. Ellana was where she needed to be, too. She had been raw these past few days since Solas’s dream visit. Burying herself in planning was the only thing that kept her mind too busy to think about why his presence, even in the Fade, could unbalance her so. It kept her from overthinking to death every little cryptic remark he’d made, every move of their game of chess.

“For you, Varric? I have all the time in the world.” She painted on a smile.

“That thought would be a little more reassuring if some idiot wasn’t planning on ending the world.” Varric detached himself from the doorframe and turned around, gesturing with his shoulder for her to follow.

“Oh, I don’t know. I could use a bit of a break. Ending the world just might do the trick,” she said, keeping her tone light.

“I’ve got a hard limit of three world-ending crises in my lifetime. After this one, I’m tapped out.” He paused, leading her through the corridor and past Josephine’s empty office. He turned right and pushed open the stairs to the cellars. “At this point, I’ve got enough material to keep me writing for the rest of my life. However long that is.”

She followed him down the dark steps, conjuring a few wisps to light the way. With so few people in the hold, no one was bothering to keep the torches lit in the less-used areas. “You’re already working on your next book?”

“When am I not?”

“Point. What’s this one about?” Their voices echoed eerily off the empty walls of the cellars and the wisps cast an icy blue glow on them both, giving the scene a surreal feel.

“A sequel, of sorts. _This Shit is Even Weirder_. You’d like it. The protagonist is a fiery female elf.” He grinned at her, the blue light dancing oddly over his dwarvish features.

“Varric, I told you. Stop basing characters off of me. Or pay me royalties,” she added as an afterthought. Five years on, and the idea that she could be the subject of a book—either one of Varric’s silly serials or a history text—was deeply unsettling. She just was a Dalish elf who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Everything that came after that was the result of the hard work her advisers had done. Ellana paused mid-stride, and Varric stopped alongside her. Then she asked the question that had been bothering her ever since he’d arrived. “Why didn’t you tell me you were bringing Hawke’s sister?”

“Dramatic irony?” Varric said, somewhat hopefully. She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at him. “Okay, okay. She wanted to meet you for herself, but I didn’t know...well, it’s awkward, okay? Let’s leave it at that. You should talk to her at some point. But right now, I’ve got something bigger for you to wonder about.” He lead her to the vault library. The door was closed, but wispy blue lights glowed through the gap between the door and the floor. Ellana quirked an eyebrow at him, and he grinned. There was something insufferably smug about the expression. “Better see it for yourself.”

Ellana took that as an invitation and stepped past him to push on the door. As she did, she immediately felt a tingle of magic vibrate through the fingers on her right hand. It was warded. She looked back at Varric, and he just shrugged. Tentatively, she touched the ward again, reaching out with her magic to feel the shape of it. The magic was practiced, refined, and the familiarity of it was most definitely not what she normally felt from Circle-trained mages. Merrill, then?

She pushed at the ward, and to her surprise it let her though. The door creaked and groaned as it opened. Varric stepped through just after her. What was the ward designed to keep out if they had been able to pass through unharmed without an amulet or similarly enchanted object designed to bypass it? Most curious.

Ancient, dusty books lined the short corridor to the vault. Some of the texts dated back hundreds of years. Each occupier of the fortress had added their own. Many of them were crumbled messes that fell apart with the barest touch. The librarian had been reduced to tears more than once when a careless peruser destroyed a particularly rare volume. The room looked almost exactly as it had when she’d abandoned Skyhold three years ago, except for that now there was a very tall object leaning against one wall in the main chamber, covered in a dusty, travelworn cloth.

Merrill had her back to them when they entered, sitting in the oversize chair at the desk in the middle of the circular room. She was so engrossed in a book she’d found that she hadn’t noticed the magical tug on the wards she’d set or the footsteps that echoed as Ellana and Varric approached.

Varric cleared his throat. “Daisy, I’ve got Lavellan here.”

Merrill shot up to her feet and turned, so startled she dropped the book she was reading. “Oh, goodness. I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you coming.”

Ellana scooped down to pick up the book. “ _A Treaty on the Pagan and Heretical Customs of the Elven_ ,” she read the title out loud, then handed the book back to Merrill who snatched it back up. “Empress Celine gifted me that copy. I’m still not sure if she meant it as a compliment or not.”

“It’s terribly interesting, isn’t it? It’s rubbish, but interesting rubbish. Does it make you wonder about the tales other people tell? Like the ones the humans tell. Did their Andraste really exist? Or...or…” Merrill trailed off, clearly thinking other religious figures she could deliberate the existence of. Ellana had explained the removal of her vallaslin to Merrill the day after her arrival. Varric, it seemed, had filled her in on the revelations about their elven ancestors some time ago, but he’d left some of the more personal parts of it out, to her profound relief. And, she suspected, he hadn’t understood enough about the significance the vallaslin or why she’d allowed Solas to remove hers to spin a good tale out of it. The explanation had led to a very fascinating and far-reaching conversation about their shared heritage.

Merrill had come as something of a surprise to her. She hadn’t been sure what to expect, based on how Varric depicted her in his tales. But she found herself liking the mage, despite herself. Both of them had been Firsts for their respective clans before going to live among humans for various reasons, so they had some things in common. Explaining that the trickster Fen’Harel had, for a time, been her lover had resulted in some of the most awkward questions of her life. Merrill was not as innocent as her doe-eyed looks made her seem. It was easy to forget that she dabbled in blood magic, and that her knowledge of demons and spirits had come at great personal cost to her.

“What were those wards you had on the door? They seemed quite strong, but they let me and Varric through.” Ellana asked, when it seemed like Merrill was going to continue gushing about the book.

“Oh, you noticed those? I’m quite proud of them. They only let certain people through, like you and Varric. And me, I suppose. No one else at the moment, though. It’s like a cross between a barrier and a ward.” Merrill beamed, obviously quite pleased with herself and Ellana couldn’t blame her. It was an impressive bit of magic. And made her wonder what all this secrecy was for. Her eyes drifted over to the tall, covered object off to the side. That had to be what this was all about. _But it can’t be...no._

“So what’s this all about, then, Varric?” She moved over to look at the object, taking a corner of the covering cloth in hand, but Varric eased it out of her hand with a smug smirk.

“First, let me tell you a story.” He cleared his throat, then began.  “Once upon a time, a certain Viscount of Kirkwall was looking into rumors of Red Lyrium in the Free Marches. He was handsome and brave and loyal and all that shit a noble is supposed to be.” Varric hurried on, seeing Ellana tap her toes on the floor. Merrill giggled. The mention of Red Lyrium caught her attention, however. One of Leliana’s more concerning reports had mentioned it was spreading to more places in Ferelden and the Free Marches. Unlike what had happened in Orlais, no one appeared to be deliberately seeding the blighted substance. It was spreading on its own. Varric had long ago made it his personal mission to hunt down and destroy it where he could out of a misplaced sense of personal responsibility, but he couldn’t possibly keep up with the rate of spread.

“Anyway, this particularly fine specimen of dwarf personally journeyed over the Vimmark Mountains to Wildervale with only his trusty crossbow, coincidentally named Bianca, to vanquish the shit out of it. On the way back home, he came across a cave. And he figured, ‘Hey, a little cave exploring never led to any bad things,’ so he went in.”

“Varric, what did you find?”

“Patience. I’m getting there. After fighting his way past the biggest damned spiders you’ve ever seen—because of _course_ there were spiders—he found that there were a bunch of corpses and a horde of treasure. Some idiot was using the cave as a smuggler’s den and didn’t see the fucking spider webs everywhere, I guess.”

“Varric, are you going to tell me before the end of the world? _What did you find?_ ” Ellana could feel her impatience starting to get the better of her. Merrill was bouncing on the balls of her feet in anticipation, looking almost as smug as Varric.

“Can I tell her? I want to be the one to tell her. It’s—” Merrill began, but Varric stepped in front of her and reached up to place a hand over her mouth. The elf gave him a startled look and mumbled something incomprehensible against his hand.

“As it happened, they were smuggling old artifacts—Daisy, what are you...? Eughhh. You’re ruining the dramatic tension.” He wiped his hand off on his vest with a disgusted noise. Merrill gave a testy _hmph_ and crossed her arms over her chest, but let him continue the tale uninterrupted.

“But yes, real antique shit. A few dwarvish trinkets, some Tevinter things, and a bunch of even older elven crap. The viscount used his authority to confiscate all of it and auction it off—did I mention this viscount was also rich? Well, if he wasn’t, he is now—except for one. This one was special, and he knew it. It was the oldest and elfiest artifact in the lot.  He called on the one person he knew could help him figure out this artifact, a talented renegade Dalish mage by the name of Merrill.”

Ellana’s heart pounded up in her throat as she pulled back a corner of the covering cloth. This time, Varric didn’t intervene. Her breath stopped for a moment, and she let the cloth fall back to cover the object. She stood in stunned silence, mind reeling with the possibilities this presented.

“Well, shit.”

* * *

 

“Varric found a _what_?”

It was hard to not laugh at the utter shock and incredulity in Cullen’s voice, but Ellana restrained herself. It was almost a perfect mirror of her own reaction the day before. She looked around at the faces of those assembled, who all looked equally stunned. Aside from Cullen, there was Dorian, the Iron Bull, Sera, Harding, and Dagna. The people she trusted the most, all crowded into the War Room, except for Varric who had set out that morning for Val Royeaux to meet with some Merchant’s Guild representatives. Bran the Seneschal was running Kirkwall in his absence, but he had sworn to see about negotiating better trade deals while he was out “adventuring”. Merrill was just outside the door, having cast a barrier that would keep anyone from eavesdropping on their meeting.

“An Eluvian,” she clarified for Cullen’s benefit.

“Of course he did.” He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “But you say it’s not functioning.”

“It’s inactive, yes, but intact. Merrill claims she can re-activate it, and it will be under our control. She says she’s worked with Eluvians before.” Ellana shrugged. In fact, Merrill was a veritable tome of information on the mirrors the ancient Elvhen had used to travel long distances.

“Can we trust this Merrill?” Dorian broke in, crossing his arms over his chest with a scowl. “You’ve only just met her. And she is a—”

“An elf?” Ellana finished the sentence for him, amused rather than annoyed. “Sera and I are elves, too. Not all of us have thrown in with Solas.” Dorian put up his hands conceding the point. Bull rumbled with amusement.

“Yeah, but, she’s a real elfy elf, that one,” Sera put in testily, clearly annoyed at being put in the same category as Merrill. “All ‘Mythy’ this and ‘Elgar’arse’ that kind of Dalish, isn’t she? Not like you, Quizzy,” she quickly added with a nod at Ellana. “I mean, kinda like you, but you’re not all _weird_ about it.”

“There were rumors concerning her in Kirkwall. She was said to be a practicing blood mage, but it was never proven,” Cullen mused. Ellana thought it was probably wisest to keep her mouth shut. “She was certainly an apostate. But as one of the Champion’s friends, she had a certain degree of protection.”

“Varric trusts her, and I had Bull talk with her.” She looked over at the former Ben-Hassrath spy, who gave a slow, slightly menacing nod. His talent for reading people was on par with Leliana’s. “If we can have a functioning Eluvian at our command, it will give us an enormous advantage. We even still have the partial map of the Crossroads we took from the Viddasala’s agents. Briala owes us enough favors that she may share what she knows of the Eluvian network. I say it’s worth the risks.” Ellana glanced around the room, looking at each person in turn. One by one, they each nodded at her. Cullen and Sera seemed to have the most reservations, but they, too, eventually nodded their assent. Serra muttered darkly under her breath about arrows, arrows, and more arrows should this thing with the mirror go “bits up, face down.”

“Thank you,” Ellana said, sighing with relief when Sera was done with her hushed threats. “I know this is a longshot. It’s always been a longshot. Thank you for trusting me on this. The Eluvian is an advantage we can’t afford to throw away, but once we use it we lose the element of surprise. We have to be judicious and plan how to use it carefully.”

“Agreed,” Cullen said, splaying his hands on the war table. The markers representing Inquisition and Venatori forces had long since been removed. There were a few plains blocks of wood representing their people on the map, but they were few and far between. There were even fewer markers roughly carved in the shape of a wolf, scattered here and there. They were all quite aware that the absence of wolf-shaped markers meant that there were more question marks than anything else. Little green markers also sat on the map, dotting the landscapes of Thedas. Most of them were on Ferelden and Orlais. The further north they went, the fewer there were.

“When we were fighting Corypheus we took the time to measure the strength of the Veil to make sure Fade rifts wouldn’t encroach on vulnerable areas. Solas headed up that research, and I think we can now say he had an ulterior motive.” Ellana smiled humorlessly. She pointed to the areas where the green markers were clustered closely together. “Based on his old notes, these should be the areas where the Veil is weaker.” Her fingers traced over the line of markers over where the Temple of Sacred Ashes once stood. The Breach had been sealed, but the scars of the tear still remained.

“I mapped what I could of the Veil in Tevinter, but I didn’t have as much time as I would have liked.” She indicated the northern part of the map, where there were fewer markers. “But what I saw corroborates with Solas’s old notes. In places where there have been battles, large amounts of magic use, or terrible suffering, the Veil is weaker.” Her fingers ghosted over the point labeled Ostagar in southern Ferelden. It was especially dense with green markers. She saw Cullen’s eyes flit briefly to a point on Lake Calenhad, Kinloch Hold.

“Why’s that, boss?” The Iron Bull spoke up for the first time in the meeting, looking down at her thoughtfully

“I don’t know. To be honest, I am not an expert in this. I consulted quite a bit with the few Rift Mages still around to get this far. But I believe he will try and use one of these weak spots. And unlike Corypheus, he has some idea of what he’s doing”  She saw the large Qunari giving her a curious look, and she shrugged.

“In any case,” She said, moving on to shake off the Iron Bull’s penetrating gaze. “I spoke with somniari in Tevinter. He’s another friend of Varric’s, and he’s been able to provide a view of things from the Fade. According to Feynriel—”

“Feynriel?” Cullen looked up, startled enough to interrupt her. He had a gleam of recognition in his eyes. Ellana gave him a questioning look. He then shrugged and waved a hand. “Apologies, please continue.”

“As I was saying, Feynriel says spirits are withdrawing in large numbers from these places, which also correspond with weak points in the Veil.” She placed a number of red marks on the map that stood out like drops of blood on a leaf among the dense green markers. “One of these spots may be where Solas is planning on tearing down the Veil.”

“As _fascinating_ as this dry talk of Veils and Spirits is, this all seems very speculative,” Dorian said, rubbing his small goatee between his thumb and pointer finger.

“Isn’t it interesting?” Dagna exclaimed, bouncing on her heels, her eyes wide with fascination and completely missing the Tevinter mage’s sarcasm. “Can you imagine a world without the Veil? Everyone having magic? Would dwarves start to gain a connection to the Fade, I wonder? And...well, I guess that’s bad because of the apocalypse and all,” she added when Sera nudged her in the shoulder.

“It is speculative,” Ellana admitted, once Dagna’s burst of enthusiasm waned. “But unless you have a secret trove of information on the Dread Wolf’s plans, it’s what we’ve got.”

Dorian merely shrugged. “Had to be stated for the record.”

Harding was looking thoughtfully at the map, standing up on a small stool to get a better view of it. “Those locations are pretty far flung. How are we going to scout them out? Since they have control of the Eluvians, we can’t track troop movements in the normal way.”

“And we don’t have the resources to monitor all of them,” Ellana agreed. “If we start poking around at them, we’ll tip our hand, so we need to approach them carefully.” She looked between her companions and advisers. Cullen and Harding immediately launched into a discussion about the strength of their forces and how best to balance the need for information against the necessity of secrecy. Bull and Sera were speaking in hushed tones off to one side, which would have struck her as odd, but Dagna tugged on her sleeve just then.

“Inquisitor—I mean Lavellan. Sorry.”

“No apologies necessary, Dagna. What do you need?”

“Come down to the Undercroft when you’re done here. I’ve been working on something for you.” The dwarf arcanist grinned at her, but would say no more on the subject, stating that she wanted it to be a surprise.

At last, Cullen and Harding seemed to come to an agreement and began discussing the possibility of using the Deep Roads to keep a low profile. The Iron Bull broke away from Sera to offer the help of his company and the somewhat questionable expertise of his resident Orzammar exile. Ellana stood back, watching them with her arms crossed over her chest. It was almost like old times.

Almost.

An unspoken, vague tension hung in the air like a fly buzzing around the room. It felt like the early days of the Inquisition, in some ways. They were working together, but they had yet to figure out where all of the pieces of their particular puzzle fit. When Harding and Cullen had made their plans, Harding went out to let Merrill know she could stop holding up the barrier.

“Oh, thank the Creators. I was about to fall asleep!” She heard the elf exclaim outside the door. “I wonder what would happen if I fell asleep while holding a spell? I’ve never tried it!”

“You know, I knew a mage who did that once. It ended with him setting himself on fire,” Dagna said cheerfully. Slowly, the voices of her friends retreated down the hallway. Ellana stayed to tidy up the war table before going to see Dagna. When she looked up, Cullen was still there, standing near the door.

“Did you need something, Cullen?”

“I was wondering if you’d heard from Cassandra recently.”

Ellana shook her head, surprised at the question. Those two had been close as colleagues and friends. Did he not know where she was, either? “No. Leliana was pretty evasive when I asked. She wouldn’t say where she was or what she was doing. I take it you haven’t heard from her, either?”

He shook his head wordlessly.

Ellana put away papers and extra maps markers, then went to join him near the door. “How have you been? I feel like we’ve barely gotten a chance to speak since I got here.”

“It’s been a busy few weeks,” he mused. She had had very few chances to speak with him since the Inquisition had disbanded. But he had been the first to respond when she’d sent out the call from Tevinter, and the first to arrive at Skyhold. He’d quickly fallen back into his old duties like he’d never left them.

“Are you...feeling well?” she asked delicately..

He smiled, understanding what she was really asking. “You mean, am I still dealing with lyrium withdrawals. I still get the odd headache, but I haven’t felt a need in years. Helping other former Templars...it has been healing for me, as well.” He smiled a small, relaxed smiled. Six years ago, if someone had told her that she, a Dalish apostate mage, would become friends with a human Templar, she would have been appalled at the idea. But yet, here they were.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” She paused. “You were a Templar at the Kirkwall circle, before all this started. How well do you know Bethany Hawke?”

“Bethany?” He seemed surprised by the question. “You know, people usually ask me about her rather more famous sister. She was a mage at the Kirkwall circle, yes. And a very good one. Even Meredith thought highly of her, which should tell you something. But...well, I was a very different man back then. I did not allow myself to become close to any mage, no matter how respectable they were. I can’t tell you much about her that you probably don’t already know. But she seems a decent person. Why do you ask?”

“Curiousity.” She shrugged.

He regarded her quietly for a moment, seeming to evaluate why she was asking him. “I spoke with her the other day. She doesn’t seem the type to hold onto resentment or anger. She didn’t bear a grudge against me for the role I played in Kirkwall’s descent into madness.”

Ellana nodded quietly, thinking on his words. From the accounts of others who had been there, Cullen gave himself too little credit. But that was the kind of person he was.

“How are you holding up?” He asked her, changing the subject as they started walking down the corridor toward Josephine’s old office.

“I’m doing well,” she said rotely. So many people had asked her some variation of that question lately, or just giving her _looks_. She brushed off the annoyance with a shrug. “I’m well enough to avert another apocalypse, if that’s any measure of wellbeing.”

“In our line of work, I suppose that will have to do,” he said with a chuckle that didn’t entirely mask his concern. But he didn’t press any further. “If there’s nothing else, then, I’ll go start organizing the the scouting parties with Harding.” He inclined his head slightly at her and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to write at least one chapter ahead of what I post, so the next chapter will likely take a bit.
> 
> I'm starting to realize just how *big* this story is going to have to be to get it where I want it. The ending was the very first thing I wrote, so I'm just trying to get everything to that point. I'm hoping I didn't bite off more than I can chew for my first try at fanfic.
> 
> Anyway, hope you're enjoying so far!


	7. Bull Session

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friendly sparring match.

As Ellana descended the stairs to the Undercroft, the sharp sounds of angry voices drifted up at her and through the heavy wooden door at the base of the steps. Or rather, one angry voice, and one cheerful but slightly exasperated one. She paused, quietly debating if she should continue or go back up to the main hall until the argument subsided.

“—bleedin’ crazy, if you ask me.”

“But think about the possibilities! Oh, I hope she lets me study it. We have no idea how it works or the kind of magic that powers it. I just want to take it apart and learn what makes it tick!”

“And leave yourself open to the Dread Arsehole!”

Ellana had half-turned to go back up the stairs, but she froze in place, unable to stop herself from listening.

“Is that what you’re worried about? We’ve talked about this. I’m a dwarf, and he’s not a demon. It’s not like he can possess me or anything.”

“I haven’t gone daft! I know that and it’s not. The friggin’. Point. All sorts of...things could come out of that Elf-loofa. We don’t have a bloody clue what’s on the other side or if that Merrill can really do any of that shite she said!”

Ellana cracked the door open just a touch to see what she could. Sera was flushed with anger born of worry, pacing around back and forth in front of the braziers that sat on the wall that divided upper half of the room from the lower. She was gesturing away from herself and she walked, as if swatting the possible evils of the Eluvian away from her. Dagna had perched herself up on the edge of a crafting table, her eyes following Sera’s pacing form with a look of exasperated fondness written around the small quirk in her mouth. The steady  _ tap tap tap _ of a tool on metal told her that Harritt was also present where she couldn’t see him, wisely not butting into their argument. 

_ Luckily, I have no such good sense _

“Sera isn’t wrong,” she said, pushing the door the rest of the way open. Both women stared at her, the realization that she must have overheard their argument dawning on their faces. 

“Wait, what?” Sera did a double take, her mouth hanging open with surprise, while Dagna just gave her a mildly puzzled look. Harritt merely turned to look over his shoulder, snorted, and went back to work on a new shield for Cullen, judging by the Mabari-shaped details he was carefully working into the hammered metal.

“You’re not wrong about the Eluvian,” she repeated, stepping fully into the room. “May I have a word with Dagna? Alone?” She glanced at Sera and Harritt. Sera froze on the spot, her surprised but triumphant mood swinging like a pendulum back in the other direction. She stalked off up the steps back to the main hall, muttering under her breath. Harritt set down his tools and cast a significant look at Dagna before following Sera up the stairs. Once they were gone, Ellana leaned against the short wall that housed the braziers. The room was drafty with the cold winds that blew in from the Frostbacks, but the fire kept her from feeling more than a little chill.

“The Eluvians are still something of an unknown. I’ve sent a request to Halamshiral asking Briala for any information she has about them that she hasn’t already shared, but I want you to work with Merrill. Find out what you can about how they work. Anything about the kind of magic that powers them,” Ellana instructed.

“Really? You mean it?” Dagna looked fit to burst with excitement.

“Of course. We know so little about the ancient Elvhen and their magic. Any insight you can provide would be invaluable.” Ellana stopped for a moment as a thought occurred to her. “Vivienne is sending a handful of Tranquil to help. I’m assigning them to you to help out with any enchanting in addition to studying the Eluvian.” 

“You mean I get...I get underlings? To do my bidding?” Dagna let out a giddy giggle and clapped her hands together, bouncing in her seat on the crafting table with excitement. 

“Yes, well, try not to let it get to your head.” Ellana sighed and passed a hand over her face. It took real effort to keep herself from smiling. Dagna, with minions. She could become an unstoppable force if she put her mind to it.

“Thank you, Inquisi—Lavellan.”

“Who else would I trust with this? I don’t think you need to be told this, but the Eluvian must be kept secret. If you find something, report it to me first.” She made a mental note to speak with Sera and Harritt separately, as well. The Eluvian had too much potential value to risk losing its advantages to loose lips. The need for constant vigilance even among friends wore on her, but she had precious few advantages she could call on.  Every time she thought she had something that would help, it ended up being another dead end. Every time she thought she had found out where Solas was or what he was up to, he slipped through her fingers. It was an endless and exhausting game of cat and mouse, and she knew which of those animals she was. Time was not on her side, given what Leliana had told her, what Solas himself had told her. 

“Of course!” Dagna nodded, clearly eager to do whatever Ellana wanted of her in order to get her hands on the Eluvian. She looked like a girl whose nameday had come early. “My own underlings. You know,” the Arcanist said, suddenly turning thoughtful, “I always wondered how the Templars made mages Tranquil. None of the Circles I went to would share that with me. They’re all pretty hush-hush about it. But it’s so fascinating!”

“That’s...no,” Ellana said firmly. To be cut off from the Fade, from the world of dreams. To never again feel the electric tingle of magic pulsing through her body. To experience the world in dulled tones and muted hues. To never feel passion or anger or love again. To be made Tranquil. It was every mage’s worst nightmare. Every Dalish mage lived in terror of being caught by the Templars and subjected to the Rite as apostates. The necessity of keeping away from major human settlements for fear of capture had been instilled in her from a very young age. She felt a familiar wave of revulsion roll through her “No,” she repeated, more gently this time.

“Are you okay?” Dagna looked up at her, concern written across her features.

“I’m alright.” She swallowed and gave Dagna a small, reassuring smile. “Tranquility is...not a topic I enjoy talking about over dinner. Or anything.”

“Oh, right. Mage. But hear me out!”

“Don’t tell me you’re still working on a way to enchant items to block out magic like Templars do.” Ellana could see where this was headed. The Arcanist had been chasing that halla for years now, but her experiments had yielded little success beyond slightly improved magical resistance in her armors. Ellana suspected that Sera might have been encouraging this particular venture.

“I may have made some progress. I think it’s a matter of using the right materials and folding the lyrium just so into them.” Dagna smiled brightly, unboundedly optimistic that one day she could achieve this if only she worked hard enough at it. 

“I won’t tell you not to pursue it, but there may be more useful outlets for your talents, like the Eluvian.” She smiled, hoping that Dagna truly would glean something useful from the artifact. “Now, what was it you wanted to show me?”

The dwarf grinned gleefully, hopping down from her crafting table to the armor modification bench. “It’s too bad you sent Harritt away. He was practically giddy when we finished working on this.”

Ellana short a skeptical look at her. Harritt? Giddy? It was an unlikely combination. But when she saw what Dagna was presenting to her, she felt a little giddy herself.

 

* * *

 

The training dummy was on fire.

Ellana stared down at the smoking ruin she’d left in her wake. The wood pole that ran down the center of it had been cleaved cleanly in half, and the straw batting that gave the dummy its bulk had maybe just a little bit caught on fire. After a moment’s stunned silence at the unexpected carnage, she went into action, stomping out the fire and casting a feeble Winter’s Grasp on it before it could spread on the dry grass in the courtyard and start a true conflagration.

Once the fire was out, she breathed a sigh of relief and wiped a trail of ash and sweat from her forehead. Fortunately, it had not been a particularly large fire. Her talent for ice magic  and controlling fire was minimal—she typically had more luck starting fires than putting them out. 

“So, boss, I’m thinking you might have some pent up anger.” The Iron Bull’s voice rippled with amusement behind her, startling her. She turned and saw him approaching from the tavern in the pre-dawn light with a crooked smile on his face. The fire had demanded so much of her attention that she hadn’t noticed him until he spoke.

“The dummy had it coming,” Ellana said quickly, moving to block Bull from seeing just how bad the damage was. It was futile, of course. He just peered around her small elven frame and nodded at the ruined pile of straw and wood.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side. How’d you do that, anyway? Not a regular fire spell. Cut’s too clean,” he observed, flicking one large finger at the bifurcated pole.

“With that sharp eye, you ought to consider work as an intelligence agent,” she remarked dryly, drawing a guffaw from the Qunari. “Dagna and Harritt made me a new toy to play with. It needs a little, um, fine tuning I think.” She held up her left arm. A complicated looking harness was strapped to her upper arm to hold the prosthetic in place. Over the past few years, the arcanist and the smith had worked to fine-tune the harness so it didn’t chafe her raw or leave deep bruises like the first few iterations had. It was still an awkward and uncomfortable get-up, but it represented vast improvement. The crossbow arm Dagna had made for her at first had been a treat, but it had proved uncomfortable and impractical for more than light pranks, much to Sera’s disappointment.

This new prosthetic was sleek, made of a sturdy wood to keep it lightweight and reinforced with dragon bone. Runes inscribed down the sides glowed with a soft blue light. The arm tapered down to a wrist, where a hand made of the same materials was mounted. The wrist and fingers were articulated but stiff, allowing her to adjust their positions manually so she could use it for fighting or for riding.

It was no substitute for the hand she’d lost. Nothing ever could be. That pain still came and went. When she didn’t re-live that awful day she’d lost it, her dreaming self was still whole and two-handed. More than three years on and she still often woke up expecting it to still be there, only to have to face the disappointment the waking world offered her. 

“Is that dragon bone? Oh, man, that’s hot. I oughta get Dagna to make me a dragon bone eyepatch,” Bull mused, lost somewhere in the fantasy of having a piece of a dragon always on his body. His voice was a low growl as he talked about it, more appropriate to a bedroom than a battlefield.

“Ahem. Before you get too...excited,” Ellana pressed on politely before the conversation could get entirely off track.

“Heh, sorry boss. Anyway, what’re the runes for?” Bull narrowed his eyes at her arm, then looked over at the still smoking dummy. She could see him working it out for himself, and she nodded in confirmation.

“I’m still working out the kinks. But at least it hasn’t exploded on me. Yet.” She held the arm up in front of her, pointing it straight up at the sky. With a small effort, she channeled mana into it. She felt mild and ever-so-slightly disconcerting rush as the energy left through her arm and went into the wood and dragonbone construct. The strangeness of the feeling defied her ability to explain it. Channeling magic into objects was nothing new to her, but ever since she’d lost the Anchor along with the lower half of her left arm, it had felt...odd to do so with what remained of her arm. It felt muted and incomplete. But it still worked. The runes lit up bright blue and a spirit blade flared to life straight from the hand of the prosthetic. 

“Useful,” Bull grunted his approval. “Wanna take it for a spin?” Before she could respond, he walked over to a rack of training weapons leaning haphazardly against the wall next to the dummies. He picked up an iron greataxe and tested its balance before taking a slow and lazy swing at her. She easily glided back out of the way of the weapon. Her right hand instinctively groped for a staff that wasn’t there as she settled into a fighting stance. 

“Are you certain? I don’t have total control of this thing yet.” As if proving her point for her, the blade sparked unstably, sending arcs of energy up and down the spectral weapon.  It hummed and crackled with barely restrained power, and she feared how unpredictable the amplified spirit blade might be, even in a friendly sparring match.

“You know who you’re talking to, boss?” Bull snorted a laugh.

“Right, who am I kidding?” She had a sudden and vivid flash of memory of the time she’d hit him with a staff so hard her arms had been sore for days afterward, and he’d been none the worse for wear. But still. A vague sense of anxiety crawled up and settled in a tight coil in her chest. “I’d hate to upset Dorian if I accidentally took out your other eye, though, so let’s take it slow?”

In response, Bull swung his axe at her again, far swifter this time. She ducked and rolled to the right, blood rushing loudly in her ears. 

“You and I have very different definitions of ‘slow’, I see,” she remarked, coming up to rest on one knee and pointing her blade at the Qunari. He wound up another large swing, keeping her on the defensive and forcing her to dodge the other way. She put out her left arm to steady herself as she rolled. The prosthetic slammed into the ground and collapsed out from under her. She cried out as a jarring shock of pain traveled up her arm and through her shoulder. Her focus faltered, and the spirit blade flickered and died.

“Nothing personal, Lavellan, but you aren’t gonna learn to use that thing by taking it ‘easy’.” Bull advanced on her, swinging the axe around in a great vertical loop and striking the ground in front of her with such force that nearby doors rattled and a flock of ravens on the western wall took flight amid a swirl of angry  _ caw _ s. Ellana stepped back, trying to regain her concentration, until she felt her back press up against the wall. She swallowed hard, eyes darting back and forth to find a way out.

The end of the Inquisition had not meant an end to the fighting for her. It had mostly been skirmishes too small to be called battles since then. Assassins and mercenaries hired by the people she had angered as the Inquisitor and who now saw her as vulnerable, waylaid her on her travels or tried attack her in her infrequent stays with friends or her clan. She’d led ambushes on Venatori holdouts and Red Templar encampments. She’d raided old ruins where Solas had been rumored to be hiding. But from the back of the ranks, where mages were supposed to be. Not in the thick of things, clad in snoufleur armor and armed with a staff and a spirit blade. Not in the middle of the chaos of the melee. Not where she used to be.

Not where she belonged.

And Bull knew it. The half-smirk on his face confirmed it. 

“That’s it? What’d you lose, your hand...or your nerve?” he taunted, swinging the axe in a threatening arc, but not advancing on her further. She was pressed against the wall as far as she could go, and the only way out was through him. He had planned this, she thought, almost from the moment he’d walk out of the tavern. Damn him.

“You’re about to lose something,” she muttered, with more menace than she felt. The spirit blade hummed to life again. She held it up in front of her, keeping a wary eye on the Qunari. He had strength and reach on her. If she tried to go to either side, he would block her in and keep her caged. She drew back her arm and then pushed it forward, darting the blade at him, probing. He easily pushed back against the semi-solid blade with the handle of his axe and snorted. 

“C’mon boss, this isn’t even a fight.” Bull rumbled at her, turning his axe and swinging the shaft like a staff, forcing her to duck again.

“Here I thought you didn’t want to get on my bad side. Is poking incredibly sore spots a hobby for you, or just something you dabble in? I’m sure there are some puppies here in Skyhold you can kick.” She feinted to Bull’s right, drawing his attention to his good side, then drew the blade back and came at him from his blind side. He seemed to predict her strike, and moved to avoid it.

“Coming from the left is too obvious. If I had a sovereign for every shit who tried it, I could get that dragon bone eyepatch. And there’d be fewer dead assholes,” he commented conversationally, swinging the shaft of his axe at her again. This time, she swept at his knees while she was ducking. He shifted to the side, but couldn’t avoid it entirely. She stopped just short of striking. “Better,” he said approvingly. “But you need to follow through or it doesn’t mean shit.” He tapped at her side with the broad side of the axe. It was a light tap, but it still sent a shock through her. 

“Is this the part where you say something blunt but insightful and I talk about my feelings and we all go have a drink and laugh about it?” She feinted again, testing his defenses, but he wasn’t buying it.

“Nope. This is just a sparring match.” Another swing, another dodge.

“Where’s Skinner?” She thought the question might be a barb, a distraction to give her an opening at least, but it might as well have been a pebble flung against a stone wall. The Qunari tilted his head at her and swung the greataxe around in a wide arc at her. She ducked just in time, feeling great  _ whoosh _ of air over her head as she covered it with her right hand. Her heart thudded in her chest as the rush of adrenaline made her blood pound in her ears. That had been fast. Fast enough to have hurt her, even killed her, if she hadn’t ducked. She looked up, just as Bull set the head of the axe down on the ground with a heavy thud. There was no trace of anger on him. In fact, he seemed oddly pleased about something.

“Where’s Loranil? Elan? Charter?” He deflected the question right back at her, rattling off several more names. Charter, she knew, was gathering information for Leliana. Bull had to know that, too. The other names were like little knives in her gut. Each one of them had disappeared entirely in the past few years. She didn’t have to think too hard to guess where they had gone. People she’d trusted. People she’d considered friends. People now probably working for a man she had loved. A man she still loved, Creators help her. The unexpected Fade visit had only hammered that home.

The spirit blade emanating from her left arm gave an unstable flare, energy crackling along its length. The sense of anxiety she’d felt earlier unfurled, mingling with a bubbling, helpless sense of anger that lived just underneath her skin. Lightning crackled along her right arm. She gathered it all into her hand, forcing it into a tight ball, then dropped down on one knee and slammed her fist into the ground, discharging the lightning. It spread across the ground and shot up Bull’s legs. He grunted in surprise and jumped back. As he did, she swept the spirit blade up, angling it up at his side. With another grunt, he brought up his axe to block it.

“Shit, boss,” he panted, his one eye open wide and staring down at his axe. She followed his gaze to where the two weapons had clashed. The spirit blade had cut halfway through the head of the axe. It had lodged itself there, the tip just an inch from cutting into Bull’s torso, still spitting and hissing with energy. She quickly dispelled the blade, and he dropped his axe.

“I did say it was unstable,” she said around a suddenly very dry mouth. In that moment, she wasn’t sure if she was referring to the magically enhanced arm, or herself. She knew she was carrying a lot around. It was more or less inevitable with everything that was going on. But to let it loose like that on a friend…. “I’m sorry,” she murmured quietly, sinking down to the ground and resting her head back against the wall.

“Naw, I was pretty much asking for it.” He grinned down at her, waving a hand to make it clear that her apologies were unnecessary. “Besides, it was kinda hot. You’re like an exploding barrel of gaatlok when you’re angry.”

“Best not let Dorian hear you say that, or he might explode like a barrel of gaatlok.” She snorted. The admission that he’d deliberately provoked her soothed her some, but the outburst had left her feeling oddly deflated. Like a half-emptied wineskin.

“We’ve all got our bruises, boss. Keep a lid on yours, or they’ll get used against you. And not by a friend in a little sparring match,” he cautioned, looking utterly serious for once. An awkward silence settled over the courtyard as Ellana quietly contemplated what sort of bruises marked the Qunari’s soul.

“I heard a rumor that we’re headed to the Frostback Basin soon,” Bull changed the subject a little too casually, settling down next to her on the ground. They sat there, backs against the wall, breathing hard from the exertion of sparring. Well, she was anyway. 

“A rumor, hmm?” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. The rumor mill was running slightly faster than a speeding fireball these days, it seemed. 

“Any truth to it?”

“I don’t know why you’re asking me. Rumor seems to know more than me at this point.” She shrugged, then relented. “Dagna found some old scout report about a cave there that she thinks we should investigate. Harding was already going to send some of her people to check out a weak spot in the Veil, so Sera and I are tagging along.” In truth, she was taking Sera with her to get her out of Dagna’s hair while she worked on the Eluvian.

“There room for a few more in your party?”

“There’s always room for a few more.”

Bull stood up, then turned around and offered her his hand. His large hand enveloped her small one and he half-pulled her to her feet. “I think we skipped the insightful remarks thing, but we can still go and get a drink and talk about your feelings,” he said slyly. He started to walk over to Herald’s Rest, and turned to look at her over his shoulder. “You coming, Lavellan?”

“Only if the drinks are on you,” she said. He laughed, and she surprised herself when she joined in the laughter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a lot longer than I anticipated. It's been a busy few weeks!
> 
> I also made a few small revisions to the prologue to expand a little on Solas' POV .


	8. The Worst Day Since Yesterday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, that escalated quickly.

It was spring in southern Thedas, but that message had yet to reach the permanently snow-capped peaks of the Frostbacks. A cold, howling storm blew in and harrowed the small party when they were just three days out of Skyhold, forcing them to set up camp to keep the last, snowy gasps of winter off their backs. They huddled in their tents while the mages in the party took turns casting warming spells to keep the party from freezing. Between Bull and his Chargers, four of Harding’s scouts, Ellana, Sera, Dorian, Bethany, and six horses, three large tents suddenly seemed inadequate.

Ellana found it hard to say who was more miserable with this turn of events, the people or the horses. The people were stuck in close proximity in tents that managed to be sweltering and bone-chillingly cold at the same time, subsisting on hard rations. The horses were similarly stuck in the tents, nervously edging away from the small magic fires and unable to exercise their legs due to the blinding snowstorm outside. The smell was like something straight from the the Deep Roads, mixing horse shit, human sweat, and cold-soaked misery in one small, enclosed space.

Tempers flared over the two days the storm lasted. One tent burned down after the first day—which Dalish swore up and down wasn’t her fault—forcing them to share even closer quarters for the second. Bethany and Stitches had to treat a broken bone after the horses became spooked by the howling wind one night. Prois would let no one but Ellana near her, so she had to spend most of the time hunkered down with her horse to keep her from kicking the tent down around their heads. It made for even less sleep and more restless nights than usual. It gave her plenty of time wonder how long it would take to receive replies to the messages she’d sent to Val Royeaux, Halamshiral, and Weisshaupt before leaving Skyhold. If any of them even reached their destinations.

Staying with Prois, at least, offered some much needed space from her other companions while tempers were so high and brittle. She and the Iron Bull seemed to have come to an understanding after their sparring match, at least. Dorian, unused to the bitter cold after three years in temperate Qarinus, was just plain miserable and snapping at anyone who came in range. Sera had come to understand why Ellana asked her to come along and resented it. And then there was the bronto in the room, Bethany.

She’d been surprised when Bethany had offered to come with them to the Frostback Basin. She had wanted to turn her down, but practicality won out. They were short on mages who could handle healing spells, and Bethany had demonstrated a practiced hand with them in her short time at Skyhold. 

“Did you learn that from the Circle?” Ellana asked her conversationally after she’d set and healed Vic’s arm, the unfortunate scout on the receiving end of Prois's kick.

“I’m no spirit healer, but I had a good teacher,” she said with a small smile. There was something deeply sad about the way she said it that discouraged further questions. Varric’s suggestion that she should talk with Hawke’s sister was still in the back of her mind. Bethany didn’t try to initiate conversation, and Ellana privately admitted that she wasn’t prepared to do so herself.  _ Some day, _ she’d promised herself, when she had a little more time to sit down and prepare for what was sure to be an awkward talk. When she was better rested and less prone to snap exhaustedly at her companions. Because Bethany, of all people, was surely owed that much.

Passing the time became an agonizing exercise in not murdering one another during the second day of the storm. She was quite certain that Dorian’s threats to immolate Bull if he didn’t stop singing about taking bottles of beer from the wall were genuine. After the twentieth verse of the song, Ellana was prepared to help him set his lover on fire. Rocky repeatedly tried to start games of Diamondback with anyone and everyone. None of the other Chargers would take him up. He only stopped asking when Bethany managed to soundly beat him within three games, and then he accused her of cheating. After that, they turned to Wicked Grace. Lacking anything to bet except clothes, and unwilling to risk frostbite for a bit of amusement, the game quickly lost its charm for most of the party.

At long last, the storm’s fierce winds died down and they were able to dig themselves out from under the snow that blanketed the landscape. The horses finally had the room to stretch their legs, even if it was just to trudge through the knee-deep snow. After packing up the remaining tents and supplies, the party descended the mountain as quickly as was safe until they found the small rocky path that led south. It was another three days before any of them felt warm or dry again. They took a full day to allow the tents to dry out once they were away from the deep snow and to give the horses a chance to rest.

It was not, in her experience, one of the better starts to an expedition.

 

* * *

 

“Ugh, I’m  _ starving _ ,” Sera complained loudly. They were making their way through a dense pine forest, just north of where Haven once stood. Snow, not nearly as thick as it had been higher up in the mountains, patterned the ground where it had fallen through the tree branches, creating odd geometric shapes. The air was still and quiet. The migratory birds had not yet returned to their summer homes in the mountains, and most of the other fauna were making themselves scarce before the approaching party. Prois and the other horses walked steadily alongside the party, carrying their supplies and remaining tents.

“Perhaps you would be less so if you hadn’t eaten half of the provisions we brought with us during that blasted blizzard,” Dorian grumbled with a weary sigh as he trudged along on foot slightly behind Ellana. She had just finished checking in with Rennie, the lead scout. His men reported no one else on the road, which was not unexpected this high up in the Frostbacks. Curiously, the ones who had gone as far as Haven reported seeing signs of activity in the half-buried, completely wrecked shell of the village. They were of the opinion that it was scavengers or squatters who had weathered the recent storm in the ruins. Something to keep an eye on, but little more than that.

“What? Had to keep warm. Hard to do that when I’m gnawing on my bow, all hungry.” Sera shot back, blowing a raspberry at the Tevinter mage.

“You eat more than Bull. I’m not sure how that’s possible. Are you certain you don’t have a hollow leg? One that is, perhaps, possessed by a hunger demon?”

“Piss off. Not bloody funny.”

Dorian sighed. “Still unreasonably afraid of the merest hint of demons, I see. The fact remains, we will have to hunt for our dinner.” He made a disgusted noise. “How I despise the taste of fresh game. It’s tough as dragon leather. And there’s no room in the saddlebags for a decent mint sauce to make it palatable, or a good Aggregio to wash it down with.”

“And by we, you mean you. I’m not bloody hunting.”

“Surely you can hunt? That bow isn’t entirely decorative, I pray.” Ahead of them, Ellana smiled to herself. They grumbled at each other, and it was like old times. They were in no danger of starvation, Sera’s prodigious appetite notwithstanding. The two could only seem to communicate their affection by needling each other mercilessly. It seemed so long ago that they had been incapable of getting along with each other.

“Not a hunter. Ew. It’s all the skinning and bloody frigging bits.” Sera made a graphic gagging sound.

“Sera, what do you think your arrows do to  _ people _ ? There are quite a few ‘bloody frigging bits’, as you say, at the end of a battle.”

“So? Not my problem. Not like it gets on me.” Sera blew him another raspberry. “The scouts can hunt. Reckon they’re all used to that handsy, up-closey stuff.”

Ellana heard Dorian heave another sigh, and the soft sound of a hand slapping flesh. She turned around to see that the mage had leaned forward to grind the palm of his hand into his forehead in a gesture of exasperation. Perhaps it was time to step in.

“It can’t hurt to help out, Sera,” she said. “Give the scouts a little break now and again.”

“Why can’t you? You’re Dalish. Can’t you kill a deer at fifty paces with a look or summat?” The younger elf asked cheekily.

“Me? I’m no hunter. I’m a terrible shot with a bow. Though I can try if you want to watch me make a fool of myself.”

“But...Dalish! Frolicking through the woods and all that gob. You’re telling me you can’t hunt?”

“Sera, do you recall the time we went around hunting rams to help refugees in the Hinterlands?” Dorian inserted himself back into the conversation, sounding torn between amusement and exasperation. 

“Yeah? What?”

“Do you remember the condition those poor beasts were in when our darling Lavellan attempted to down them?”

“Oh. Oooooh! Right.  _ Phwoar!  _ Fireballs. Instant jerky.” Sera chuckled to herself. “What about fishing? You can fish, yeah?”

Ellana looked around at the frozen ground, then back at Sera with what she hoped was her best  _ are you kidding me  _ face. But just in case Sera didn’t get the point, she added, “Do you see many streams around here? Much less ones with fish? That aren’t fishicles?”

“And let us not forget how the lovely Ellana and water interact. Which is to say, poorly. Anything higher than waist deep and she requires immediate rescue,” Dorian cut in again. Ellana sighed. Leave it to the ‘Vint to knock the elf down a peg or two. 

“Look, if you take something down, I can dress the carcass. I’m capable of that much, at least,” Ellana said, feeling the need to reassert her dignity as a Dalish elf after those recollections of her so-called wilderness skills.

That night, however, they dined on dry and charred goat meat that could have passed for leather armor. Not even a decent mint sauce could have saved it.

 

* * *

 

The next morning they broke camp and set out again. Haven was only a day’s travel away, and the party couldn’t agree whether to camp there that night or not. Most of those from her inner circle had no desire to revisit the place. But the handful of scouts with the expedition liked the idea of sheltering in a semi-protected area, squatters or no. 

The disagreement hadn’t abated by the early afternoon, when they stopped to take a break in a small forest clearing. The horses needed a rest from their burdens and a chance to get some water. Ellana had not yet weighed in on the argument, though she quietly agreed with those who had been there. Haven held too many ghosts for her to find shelter there.

All around the clearing, birds chirped far too merrily for all the cold weather. The sound was beginning to grate on her ears. She had an itch at the back of her neck, but not the physical kind. The kind that sat beneath the skin when something wasn’t right, and couldn’t be sated with a scratch. A sudden pain in her jaw informed her that she was gritting her teeth.

Birds….

She scanned the trees, suddenly wary. Her right hand reached behind her to grab her staff, and she held her left arm parallel to her chest, keeping it at the ready. The air was spring-loaded with tension ready to...

“Arrows!” Sera’s voice cut the air. Ellana heard a sharp  _ thud _ next to her, and looked down to see an arrow shaft protruding from the ground close to her foot. More arrows flew by, rapping like hailstones all around her. One made a soft, fleshy sound when it landed, shortly followed by a scream of pain. The arrows were coming from every direction, turning the clearing into a swirling den of fear and chaos.

“Shit. We’re surrounded boss.” The Iron Bull had his axe out, trying to deflect incoming arrows. He stood back to back with Krem, who was similarly trying to keep arrows off his person. His armor, at least, afforded more protection than Bull’s bare-chested fashion. 

“Any other obvious statements you care to make, chief?” Krem asked acidly, flinching as an arrow bounced off of his breastplate and dropped harmlessly to the ground.

“Hoods. Over there.” Sera nocked an arrow and pointed it across the clearing into the trees, giving Ellana just enough time to see which way she was pointing before drawing back and firing. Following Sera’s cue, Ellana pulled mana into her staff and slammed it into the ground, sending arcs of lightning through the air in the direction Sera indicated. A moment later, she was rewarded by a cry of pain as a hooded archer fell from a tree. Bethany, Dorian, and Dalish took note, as well. Another archer fell from a tree, then picked up their bow and ran. An arrow with yellow fletching suddenly blossomed from the archer’s posterior as they ran.

“Ha! Right in the breeches! Suck it!” Sera crowed in triumph.

Now that she knew what to look for, she could see seven or eight archers, nestled in branches up in the trees, wearing dark hoods and clothes that blended in with the wooded environment. She didn’t have time to contemplate if they’d been lying in wait for their small party or if they’d managed to sneak up while they watered the horses. Battle instinct took over as she cast barrier spells over as many of her people as she could. 

Ellana and the other mages gathered in the center of the clearing, facing out in all directions to keep the rest of the group covered with offensive spells. The warriors and scouts ringed around them, enclosed in protective layers of barriers. She could sense Bull seething with frustration. With the mysterious hooded archers high up in the trees, there was little he could do.

“You want a piece of me, you little shits? Get down here. The Iron Bull isn’t gonna fuck around,” he roared in challenge at them. Several archers turned their attention to him then, but a wall of flame sprang up in front of the Qunari, incinerating the arrows before they could touch him. She looked over to see Dorian, white-faced and trembling. 

“They’ve gotta run out of arrows sometime, yeah? They’re not, like, magic never-ending quivers? ‘Cause I want one of those if they’ve got ‘em. Dibs if we find any on the bodies,” Sera said as casually as if she were taking a stroll through the woods.

The hails of arrows was, in fact, petering out. It was less of a storm and more a light sprinkling. Dorian managed to knock another archer off of a branch with a fireball.

But then….

Ellana heard the dragon first, before she saw her. She heard great rush of wind as wings beat through the air, the rumble of the ground as she landed, scattering the neat ring of defense they’d formed. Ellana came to a halt near the edge of the clearing, just as an odd sort of stillness settled over her. She turned to face the great green beast. Arrows ceased flying in all directions, the shouts of her people became quiet and distant. It was a chaotic sort of serenity. 

“Shiiiiiiiiiiiiit,” someone said. It might have even been her. In the moment, with everything blurring together, it was hard to tell.

Ellana had seen far more high dragons up close than she was really comfortable with. She knew a fair amount about how to tell when one was about to strike, and how they behaved when attacked. She knew the sounds of their roars—the multi-toned sound that was at once a deep rumble and an ear-splitting screech. When this dragon opened its mouth and screamed her rage to the heavens, it was sound of mingled pain and fury like nothing she had heard before. The roar rent the air as people and horses alike panicked. 

The dragon flicked her tail disdainfully, glaring as a few of Ellana’s scouts found the nerve to loose arrows at her. The arrows bounced off the thick, green hide and hit the ground with ineffectual indifference for their intended target. She drew up on her haunches and stared down at the pathetic people scattered before her, but she didn’t attack. Bull and Krem charged at her from the side. The dragon turned and  flicked her tail again, catching both men squarely in the chest. The blow sent Krem hurling through the air, landing several yards away on his back. Bull was knocked back and fell squarely on his rump, thoroughly winded.

The dragon had her back turned to Ellana. Across the clearing, she caught Bethany’s eye. The other mage nodded at her and they both raised their staffs. Ellana channeled mana into hers. Once she could feel the slight spark of energy under her fingers, she spun it around in a great circle. A Static Cage sprang to life around the dragon, snapping and hissing with electrical energy. At the same time, Bethany brought one fist up into the air until it glowed with power, then she slammed it down in a punching motion. The air suddenly felt heavy and viscous. The dragon’s shoulders hunched under the suddenly oppressive atmosphere, just as lightning arced up from the ground into her feet.

The dragon screamed again. She spread her great wings and flapped them against the ground. Ellana stumbled back and ducked behind a tree. The next thing she knew, there was another tremendous rush of air, the trees creaking and groaning along with it, and the clearing was suddenly empty again. She looked up as the dragon flew away. The great best turned her head to look at her, and she caught a glimpse of gold eyes against the deep green of her hide.

It took her several moments to realize that she could see no more arrows, nor hear the  _ twang _ of snapping bowstrings. The hooded archers had all retreated while the dragon had their complete and undivided attention, leaving no trace behind save for the arrows that littered the ground. Slowly, the party filed back into the clearing, keeping wary eyes on the sky and trees.

Out of habit, Ellana breathed a small sigh of thanks to the Creators when she saw that everyone was accounted for and alive. Bethany and Stitches immediately set to sorting out the injured. Bull insisted he was fine, even with an arrow protruding from his upper shoulder. Dorian fussed over him anyway, which didn’t seem to bother the Qunari one bit. The most serious injuries had not come from the arrows, however. The dragon had worked the horses into a panicked frenzy. There were half a dozen broken bones and concussions in those who had stood between the horses and their escape from the imminent, winged death that terrified them on a primal level.

Ellana and two of the scouts set out into the woods to round up however many horses they could. She’d managed to get two to calm down enough to lead them by the reins back to the clearing, but saw no sign of Prois anywhere. 

“Come over here and take a look at this, Your Worship.” Krem beckoned her over when she arrived back with the second horse. He, the Iron Bull, Sera, and several of the Chargers were standing around what looked like a pile of sticks.  She tied the lead rein of the horse to the nearest tree and went over to join them. 

“I’m not ‘my worship’ anymore. What am I looking at?” Ellana asked, turning to Krem.

“Arrows,” Sera stated simply before the ‘Vint could answer. She pointed down at what Ellana had mistakenly thought to be a pile of sticks. “Most of ‘em not mine. No, wait, that one’s mine.” She bent down to snatch up one that had her fletching on it. “And that one’s mine,  _ now _ .” She grabbed another, this one with vivid red fletching. “Red Arrow for Red Jenny,” she said with a small, pleased chuckle to herself and placed the two arrows in her quiver.

“Like she said, ser, arrows. They’re all different kinds. Look at them. The fletching and tips are all different.” Now that he pointed it out, she could see what he was saying. Some of them had plain fletching, others dyed in brilliant colors like Sera’s new red arrow. The tips ranged in quality from shaved wood to wrought iron—one was even made of chipped obsidian. She reached down and plucked one out from near the bottom of the pile. There was something about it….

“So we’re thinking they weren’t mercenaries. Raiders, maybe, or those scavengers the scouts saw in Haven...Your Worship? I mean, ser?” Krem noticed her scrutinizing the arrow.

“This is a Dalish arrow. The kind the Free Marches clans use, anyway. Look here at the fletching. It’s an Ostwick Great Eagle feather.” She pointed to the distinctive tawny brown feathers with black flecks that turned darker near the tip. Uneasy silence gripped the clearing as the implications sank in.

“Piss,” Sera said at last, succinctly summing up how Ellana felt.

“We should move on,” Bull said. “The dragon might’ve scared ‘em off, but we’re like sitting ducks here in this clearing.” 

Ellana nodded her silent agreement with his assessment. “When Rennie and Vic get back from rounding up horses. We’ll load up the horses and the injured, move on as far as we can.”

She scanned the trees for signs of the scouts—or Prois—helping pack up what she could in the meantime. Vic returned with another horse. Ellana felt a heavy weight settle on her chest. Prois’s chestnut coat was still nowhere to be seen.

The confrontation with the archers had barely shaken her. Not even the dragon had moved her much. But the thought of losing her loyal mount—who had been hand-selected for her by Master Dennet himself, who had been with her through everything for six years—was more than she could bear today. She busied herself with helping Stitches prepare poultices when Rennie finally returned, holding the lead rein of a chestnut Dalish All-Bred.

Ellana was on her feet immediately, beyond caring if anyone saw the tears that threatened to spill in her eyes. Rennie saw her sprinting over and handed her the lead rein with a great sigh of relief.

“Your horse’s got quite the spirit, Your Worship. Had a hell of a time getting her to follow me here,” he said. Ellana was too relieved to see her friend to bother correcting the title.

“Thank you,” she murmured to him. She stroked Prois’s mane. The horse snorted in greeting and butted her shoulder affectionately. The weight lifted from her chest. “ _ Ma falon. Ma ina’lan’un _ ,” she said softly, words of praise for the horse’s loyalty and beauty. 

They loaded up the horses and moved on from the clearing shortly after that. Two of the horses were still missing, so Grim and Bull rigged up some crude sleds with branches, rope, and swathes of canvas cut from the tents to carry any orphaned supplies. They were only able to travel a handful of leagues before the diminishing daylight caught up with them. After the rations were doled out for dinner, Ellana made her rounds around the camp to make sure the injured were comfortable. She walked by Bethany, whose glowing hands were hovering over a dark, hoof-shaped bruise Dalish was sporting on her abdomen.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

Bethany nodded quietly, focusing on finishing up the spell. Dalish looked up at her and scowled. “Does it bloody look like I’m okay?  _ Fenedhis! _ ”, she hissed when Bethany pressed lightly on the wound.

“Your ribs aren’t cracked anymore, but you’ll be sore for some time. That’s about all I can do for you,” Bethany said apologetically, getting up and dusting her hands on her robes. Dalish grumbled under her breath. Ellana helped her to her feet, then sent her to go lie down with the others who needed to rest.

She opened her mouth to ask if she could help with anything, but Bethany suddenly cut her off.

“You’re hurt.” Bethany tugged on her arm gently. Ellana blinked, then followed the mage’s gaze to her upper left arm. There, between the joins in her battlemage armor, blood seeped out from a deep cut, turning the dark green fabric beneath it black. In the haze of the ambush and the chaos of packing up and moving on from the clearing, she hadn’t even noticed. But now that her senses were returning, unfurling in a slow wave from her the pit of her stomach all the way out to her extremities, her arm began to whisper that it had, indeed, been hit with a glancing blow from an arrow.

“Huh,” was all she managed to say.

“Hold still.” Bethany pursed her lips in concentration. She had dark circles under her eyes, and Ellana could sense that she was low on mana after the short, frantic battle, followed by healing the worst of the wounds, then marching a further five leagues after that. 

“It’s just a cut. It’ll heal on its own. You should rest.” Ellana tried to shrug her arm out of Bethany’s hands, but the mage tightened her grip.

“I’ll rest when I’m done.” Blue magic flared in her fingertips as a cold, soothing feeling settled over the wound. The stinging pain subsided, leaving just a dull and distant ache where the wound used to be. “There. That’s better isn’t it?” She let go of Ellana’s arm with a weary smile.

“It wasn’t necessary, but thank you.” She moved her shoulder around in a slow circle, feeling the little snaps and pops of her tendons as they protested the motion.

“You’re as stubborn as they come, aren’t you?” Bethany observed dryly.

Ellana looked over at her, trying to gauge how she’d meant that remark, but Bethany was once again inscrutable to her. “So I’ve been told. I’ve been compared to a breeding dragon before, but seeing as it came from Bull it may have been a compliment,” she said after a lengthy and heavy pause.

That got a laugh out of the mage, and Ellana smiled weakly in response. 

“We should help with the camp,” Ellana said after another long pause. In that moment, it almost seemed like she and Bethany might have found something other than the awkward, unsure conversations that were their staple. Almost. But then it passed. Bethany nodded at her and walked off toward the rest of the group. Ellana set herself to attempting to calm the remaining horses, who were all still incredibly skittish. The specter of the dragon still loomed large in their minds.

She couldn’t really say that she blamed the horses for that.

Even after the tent was set up, the wounded settled on uneasy bedrolls, and guard shifts assigned, the camp teemed with restless energy. They did not dare set a campfire for fear of drawing attention to themselves. The mages settled for using heating spells on waterskins to put under layers of clothes for warmth. Those on guard shifts paced nervously around the camp, keeping an eye on the sky and the trees. The rest were clustered in small groups, whispering in low voices that carried in soft chirps and hushes across the frigid and quiet night.  Only those brought under by healer’s draughts were able to sleep that night.

Thus far it hadn’t been the  _ worst  _ expedition Ellana had ever led. But then, her standards were a little on the low side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit that I'm not terribly fond of this chapter, but it was necessary to move things along. It was amusing to poke fun at some of the game's mechanics, though. This is where it all starts to transition from "people catching up and gathering together" to "things happening". 
> 
> The good news is that the next chapter is already about half done. The bad news is that I haven't ever started outlining the chapter after that. Womp, womp.
> 
> Thank you to those of you reading and leaving kudos. It puts a smile on my face whenever I get that notification in my inbox. <3


	9. Ghosts of Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party discovers some clues in Haven, and Ellana confronts her ghosts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, this chapter ended up being **way** longer than anticipated. I had to split it up. I'll finish up the second half and post it when I have time--hopefuly soon!

In the end, they went to Haven.

The morning after the ambush, they packed up and moved on. After a few hours’ travel, they set up camp away from the ghostly village, across the frozen lake. Krem insisted on erecting the remaining tent with clear sightlines in every direction. No one objected. Rennie sent two scouts to investigate, and they reported back shortly that the village was abandoned. The party reached the conclusion that their attackers and the squatters in the ruins were one and the same. There was an unspoken understanding between Ellana and her companions that they were part of the Wolf’s army, though _why_ they were out in this part of the Frostbacks this time of year begged quite a few questions. It seemed highly unlikely that they had been set to watch the roads for Ellana’s people this far from Skyhold, yet a coincidence seemed far too convenient.

No one had yet figured out how the dragon fit into it. The scouts had not been able to locate her lair, nor any accompanying drakes or dragonlings. It was more unsettling than she cared to admit. There was something about that dragon that wasn’t right. They shouldn’t have been able to drive the dragon off so easily. It shouldn’t have been there to begin with.

There were too many pieces that didn’t fit.

Another puzzling piece came when the Chargers and the scouts investigated the ruins of Haven.

Almost six years of harsh Frostback winters had brought the remains of the village low. The buildings that had withstood the avalanche so many years ago were burnt-out shells of their former selves, their wooden beams weathered to the point of collapse by the relentless freeze and thaw of the snow. Only the solid stone of the old chantry remained standing, a snowy giant towering among the graves of its brethren.

For a short time, following its destruction and the defeat of Corypheus, the site had become something of an attraction, a pilgrimage for those who believed in the Herald of Andraste stories. When the tide of popular sentiments had turned against the Inquisition, Haven became proportionately less popular as a tourist destination. When the Inquisition was disbanded, the village was forgotten by the whole of Thedas for the second time, left to crumble in the footnotes of history.

Forgotten, that was, except for a small group that had been purposefully digging through the ruins.

“Over here, Your...Lavellan,” Krem corrected himself mid-sentence, guiding Ellana through the village to the chantry to see what had been found.

“We need to work on this title thing, Krem,” she teased the Tevinter, trying to keep her spirits light despite the chill in her heart that had nothing to do with the weather. As if reading her mind, and determined to make the most blithely uncomfortable remarks he could, Krem nodded over his shoulder at one of the larger piles of beams.

“Wasn’t that where the old tavern was? The Singing Maiden?”

“Of course, you’d remember where the tavern was.” She snorted.

“I’d sit around for hours when the Chief’d let me, listening to Maryden’s...songs.” A fond smile came over the Tevinter man’s features, and Ellana couldn’t help the answering smile she found on hers.

“How is Maryden, by the way? As you two…?” She wasn’t sure how to finish the question. The two had become close around the time of the Exalted council, but everything had changed abruptly after that. For all she knew, it had been a short-lived fling, arranged by a spirit of compassion to bring some momentary happiness into the world.

Suddenly, she missed Cole with a palpable ache.

“When we’ve time to see each other, which isn’t often. She spends most of her time in Orlais, and the Chief has us Chargers up in Nevarra and the Free Marches most of the time. Nice and close to the Tevinter border.” Krem smirked devilishly, clearly under no illusion about why his company spent so time around there.

“You’re not worried about being that close to Tevinter?”

“Not so much. Doubt anyone’d care to dig up an old desertion charge, not when they’d have to fight through the Chargers and the Chief to bring me in.” The Tevinter’s chest swelled with obvious pride in his company. And deservedly so, Ellana thought. As they approached the Chantry, she began to notice more and more sets of footprints in the snow, converging on the building. More footprints than she could account for with the scouts who had been sent to check things out. “Here’s what I wanted to show you, ma’am.”

The heavy wooden doors of the Chantry were pushed inward. One of them was heavily askew in its hinges, held up only by its companion door. Krem climbed under the door and beckoned her to follow.

Once inside the stone structure, Ellana had to bite back a gasp.

For a moment she saw it as it had been: the great wooden rafters and the tall carved stone columns, the ancient and narrow windows fitted with intricate stained glass portraits, the well-worn deep red rugs that were frayed down the center. But then that image faded. The rich, dark torchlit colors gave way to bleached stone and snow. The windows were all gone, any remnants of the glass have long disappeared, and part of the roof had collapsed over where Josephine’s office had been. Snow dusted the floor and piles of rubble unevenly while weak spring sunlight sent tentative beams into the main hall of the chantry. The floors creaked and groaned under the unaccustomed press of footsteps, and in those little noises she could hear the whispering ghosts of those who once lived here.

_Do you ever wonder what lies at the edges of the map, past the seas?_

Ellana’s shoulders tensed as Josephine’s voice floated past her ears. She looked around to Krem, who looked utterly unaffected. _I’m hearing things_ , she told herself. Being here, after all this time, was bound to stir up the specters of the past. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, swallowing the memories down for now. There would be time for that. Later.

“Lavellan?”

She opened her eyes to see Krem looking at her with concern. “You used my clan name, Krem. That’s progress,” she said, offering him a small smile. The look he gave her was full of awareness that she hadn’t answered his unspoken question. She gestured at him to keep walking. “What did you find ?”

“The, uh, elves were looking for something here.”

He led her off to the side, to where the cellar door had been forced off its hinges. But didn’t look buckled or warped, as she expected in a door that had been forced open.  She directed a questioning look at Krem, who looked as puzzled as she felt.

“It wasn’t us. Chief reckons they used magic to force it open. Come on, everyone else is down there.” He ducked through the broken door, and Ellana hesitated a moment before following him.

Their steps echoed on the way down to the cellar. She became aware of an itch, a vague sense of discomfort that began where her left arm ended, just below the elbow. It was the same pins-and-needles sensation she got when she slept on it wrong, or when the harness that held her prosthetic was cinched too tightly.

“The first time I was here, I was in chains,” she found herself saying. Her words filled the narrow hall with empty echoes. When reached the bottom of the stairs, into the bare stone floors of the Chantry’s cellar, the echoes came back to her, in another voice entirely.

 _Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now._ Cassandra’s voice demanded, floating through the cellar from the dungeon on the other end.

“Back when they thought you’d caused the explosion at the Conclave? I remember hearing about that. It might be funny to see someone try and put you in chains now.” The Tevinter grinned at her.

“You’d be surprised how many still want to,” she replied lightly.

By the time they reached the dungeon, she could hear quiet voices—real ones, not the ghosts that whispered to her—coming from it. Bull, Dorian, Sera, and two of the scouts were gathered in a tight knot, seemingly in the middle of an argument. Krem cleared his throat, pulling their attention over to him.

“I’ve brought th...Lavellan.”

“Krem says you’ve found something,” she prompted, stepping forward into the dungeon. All eyes were on her. The itching sensation had been getting more intense since Krem had led her down the stairs. Ellana had checked and rechecked her harness to ensure that it was secured properly, but it was not the source of the discomfort. This room was, or something about it.

“We haven’t found shit, and it’s making everyone bonkers,” Sera said irritably.

“What our ever-so-eloquent friend here means to say is that there should have been little of note here, according to what anyone can remember, so none of us can grasp what the elves would have wanted here,” Dorian said patiently, but looking equally annoyed. He gestured around the dungeon.

She looked around the room. Whatever damage the avalanche and subsequent neglect had done to the chantry had not touched the ancient foundations of the building. It had not stood the better part of eight centuries to fall to something so inconsequential as the ravages of nature. It was exactly as she remembered it, right down to the faint smell of rot that no amount of scrubbing had ever been able to remove. A shudder coursed through her as she recalled what Leliana and Morrigan had told her about the previous inhabitants of the village.

Ellana closed her eyes and tried to reach out and see with senses beyond her sight, feel with a reach that went beyond her hands. When she opened her eyes again, she saw two images overlaid on each other. The first was the dungeon as she knew it looked—the cold, grey stone floors, the heavy iron bars, the trickles of ice and water that slipped in through the walls. Beyond that, there was more. Darkness marred the floors and walls, stains that could never truly go away, images of pain and horror that would forever mark this place. And yet, little wisps of hope, lit by those who had originally built this place, by those who had later reclaimed it in the name of faith lightened the darkness. They could never wash away the horror this place had seen, but they could bring some brightness into it.

Beyond that...cracks. Tiny, muted things that whispered and tickled and smelled the way dreams felt all at once. They started on one wall and spread outward like a sickly green spider web all around the room. The itch in her arm sharpened, spiking through her whole body. She gasped for breath and closed her eyes again.

“Ellana?” Dorian was there, hand on her other arm, his voice sharp with alarm.

“I’m fine,” she said, opening her eyes. There was only one image in her eyes this time. “I’m fine,” she repeated, taking a few deep breaths. “The Veil is thin here. Dorian, you can feel it, can’t you?”

The Tevinter mage’s brow furrowed in confusion, but his features slackened as he, too, reached out with his senses as she had done. After a moment, he nodded. “As thin as a Rivaini whore’s blouse,” he confirmed.

“Thank you for that mental image.” She rolled her eyes. Bull and Sera, at least, looked thoughtful, thought whether they were contemplating the Veil or the Rivaini, she couldn’t say.

“Do you think there’s a connection?” he asked.

“I’m positive. Only, I’m not sure what it is yet.” Had the elves come here because of thinness of the Veil, or had the Veil become thinner as a result of their being here? “I don’t recall it being so thin, but a Darkspawn Magister attack might do that to a place.”

That explanation felt flat, even to her.

“’Bout done with these friggin’ elves,” Sera muttered. “Heading back to camp, now. Too bloody broody here.” The blonde elf stalked off, leaving a trail of discomfort in her wake. Yet again, it was hard to disagree with her sentiment.

Ellana took one more lingering look at the dungeon before following her out. The rest of the party filed out after her, unable to fill the silence that ensued with more than their footsteps as they went back up the steps.

She didn’t stop to look around again until she was outside, breathing the clean mountain again once more. She stood at the door of the chantry and watched Sera and the others pick their way through the ruins back to camp. There were ghosts there, waiting for her. She could feel their presence in the prickle that teased the back of her neck and the itch that plagued her arm.

“Are you alright, Ellana dear?” Dorian came up to stand beside her where she rested against the outside wall of the chantry.

“I’m just taking in the sights. The Frostbacks are extra frosty this time of year, wouldn’t you say?”

“Ah yes, the lovely, bucolic sights of remote Ferelden. You can almost smell the dog shit from here.” Dorian wrinkled his nose in distaste. “You know, I didn’t spend much time here before Corypheus came and wrecked the place, but it seems like it hasn’t changed much.”

Ellana couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up from within, even though it really wasn’t funny in the slightest. Dorian turned to her with a warm look. “There’s a better look on you, love.” He reached over and put a hand on her right arm in a gesture of affection. She sighed and allowed herself to lean into her friend. Just a little. His was a gentle, warming presence.

“We should go back to camp before it gets dark. I heard a rumor that rabbit stew might be on offer for dinner tonight. Aren’t we the lucky ones?”

“My poor magister, forced to eat peasant food entirely by his own choice.”

“Yes, well, next time I go ‘adventuring’, I’m bringing my own personal larder. It’s one thing to save the world. It’s another thing entirely to do so while living like a barbarian.” He shuddered dramatically. “Are you coming?”

She shook her head. “Go on ahead. I’ll meet you back at camp. I just want to look around a little more,” she said. Dorian gave her arm a squeeze and a look of understanding flashed across his face. He left her there by herself, alone with the ghosts that clamored for her attention.

 _If you are meant for this, if the Inquisition is meant for this, I pray for you._ There was Chancellor Roderick. He had fought her at every turn, questioned her every decision, but in the end he had been a good man, a man whose last act was to lead the people of Haven to safety. The old Prayer for the Dead rested on her lips, but it wasn’t right to say it for him. Even if her Creators weren’t utter lies, he had been a man of his faith.

“Andraste guide you,” she mumbled uncertainly, clumsily. Either he would be pleased that she honored is faith, or else apoplectic to hear the words from her unapologetically Dalish lips. Wherever his soul was now.

She walked slowly among the piles of collapsed beams that used to be homes and buildings. Here and there, she caught whispers, fragments of thoughts that stirred in the light, snowy breeze. If it wasn’t the thinning of the Veil here, perhaps it was her own mind supplying the ghosts that flitted through the ruins.  Harritt, Segritt, Minaeve, Threnn, Lysette, Adan, Flissa, and everyone. Those who had died here, and those who yet lived. They all had something to say.

She took the long way around, completing several circuits through the inner village. The sun set behind the mountains, casting long shadows among the wreckage. As the light dimmed, the ghosts grew louder. The soft strains of a song whispered faintly from where the tavern once stood. Listening hard, she could just make out the lyrics of it.

 

 _Once we were_  
_In our peace_  
_With our lives assured._

  
_Once we were_  
_Not afraid of the dark._

  
_Once we sat in our kingdom_  
_With hope and pride._

  
_Once we ran through_  
_The fields with great strides._

  
_We held the Fade_  
_And the demon's flight_  
_So far from our children_  
_And from our lives._

  
_We held together_  
_The fragile sky_  
_To keep our way of life._

  
_Once we raised_  
_Up our chalice_  
_In victory._

  
_Once we sat_  
_In the light of our dreams._

  
_Once we were_  
_In our homeland_  
_With strength and might._

  
_Once we were_  
_Not afraid of the night._

It was like hearing Maryden’s voice through a door padded with thick wool. The words, the tune were there, but muffled and unclear around the edges. She found herself humming the tune under her breath as she picked her way through. It was a lovely song, sad yet hopeful, that had always caught in her ear and stuck in her mind whenever she heard even the tiniest snippet of it.

It was, perhaps, inevitable that she found herself outside of the old apothecary’s hut. Her mind’s eye supplied the figure that stood before it, taller than any elf she had met before, lean, and dressed in ragged clothes that seemed inadequate to keep out the cold. But if he had complained about it, she had never heard it.

_You train your will to control magic and withstand possession. Your indomitable will is an enjoyable side benefit._

_Indomitable focus?_

_Presumably. I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine that the sight would be...fascinating._

Things had been so much simpler back then. Corypheus was a threat to be defeated. There were no second thoughts, no questions. Just a goal to be accomplished. Mild flirting had been a pleasant, momentary diversion to heighten morale, or so she had told herself. Much later on, she would would tease him about that awful “indomitable focus” line. But it had been isolating to be both suspect and put on a pedestal at the same time, and she had gravitated to him out of loneliness as one of the very few elves in Haven. He had seemed similarly out of place and lonely. But there, their sameness seemed to have ended.

_They are children acting out stories misheard and repeated wrongly a thousand times. While they pass on stories, mangling details, I walk the Fade. I have seen things they have not._

“Well, you were right. Are you happy?” she found herself saying, immediately blushing self-consciously. “And now, I’m talking to myself. Wonderful.”

How they argued at first, clashing over his perception of her people. His bitterness toward Dalish customs made a certain amount of sense in hindsight. At the time, however, his condescending attitude had been just this side of infuriating. But then….

_Right then, I felt the whole world change. You change...everything._

The specters swirled, bringing her along to another conversation entirely. That had been in Haven...but not in Haven at the same time. It was close enough to invoke the memory of the dream he’d shared with her.

_Sweet talker._

And that kiss. _Oh_ , that kiss. It had been so real, so warm. Every detail of the way he had kissed her back was etched in her memory, the hunger on his lips and the look in his eyes, a startlingly intense _want._ Her body had melted against his, awash in the sudden yearning that pulled between them. That was all it took for the embers of attraction she had felt for him to blaze to life. Her body had responded to his touch, every nerve alive and singing his name.

She had been so blind then, so naive. She could tell herself any manner of excuses for why she had fallen in love with him, try to convince herself that it all been a trick on his part. But that would have been a lie. She’d had to work hard to get past his outer aloofness. She could accuse him of many things, but lying to get into her bed was not one of them. She had seduced him, and it had taken her the better part of a year to do so.

Once, these things had warmed her to remember—their first kiss, the first time they made love. Now it was a slow poison in her veins. A creeping reminder of the fool she used to be.

Another ghost tried to get her attention. But this one didn’t belong here. It had never been here. It belonged in the far reaches of the Fade. But this ghost was never far from her mind, especially in the past month or so.

_Everyone has a story they tell themselves to justify bad decisions, and it never matters. In the end, you are always alone in your actions._

Marian Hawke’s words echoed presciently through her memories. Suddenly, the evening air was colder than it had any right to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song she's remembering is "Once We Were", one of the tavern songs. You can listen to it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Ja3nxXGqn4).


	10. The Other Hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana and Bethany have the Talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone order angst with a side of angst? Because I've got a big heaping pile of it here.

She didn’t know how long she stayed there, listening to the ghosts. The sun had long set behind the mountains, but the chill of the night hadn’t yet set into her bones. All she knew was that this was somehow right. She didn’t know she needed to do this until now, to welcome the specters with open arms and send them on their way after they had said their piece. There was peace in it. Their acceptance was a mild, but soothing balm for the bruises on her soul.

All except for Solas.

“Copper for your thoughts?” A voice spoke up behind her. She jumped up and turned, her hand reaching for the staff on her back before she saw who it was. 

“Bethany.” She breathed out, relaxing her arm back down to her side. The mage was wrapped tightly in a dark cloak against a cold that even her heavy robes couldn’t keep out. Ellana felt a moment’s sympathy for her. Like Dorian, she was more used to the temperate maritime climes of Kirkwall, but she hadn’t complained at all during this journey. That had earned her some respect.

“The big Qunari fellow asked me to check in on you, make sure you hadn’t fallen down into some abandoned basement.” Bethany’s lips quirked in a small smile.

“Did he now?” Ellana’s eyes narrowed. It would have been easier to send someone like Sera, who was familiar with Haven. He was up to something. Again. And it wasn’t hard to guess what this time. “I guess I should head back to camp before Bull starts sending out more search parties.”

She looked over her shoulder again at the apothecary’s hut, and then set out walking with Bethany back to the camp on the edge of the ruined village. The ghosts were quieter now. She could only hear them whisper over the crunching of snow under her feet. Either they had said what they wanted to say, or else they didn’t want to speak as much when another person was around.

“So this is Haven,” Bethany said, a small note of wonder in her voice.

“Was. It was Haven.” The ghosts murmured their agreement.

“I’m sorry.” Bethany was quiet for a while as they walked along, and an awkward silence settled between them like a thick blanket of snow. It seemed she should say something, but nothing seemed appropriate. “Still,” the mage went on, trying to plow through the heavy silence, “I’ve heard of it before. The Hero of Ferelden came through here looking for the Urn of Sacred Ashes, and then the Conclave...well, you know that part, I’m sure.”

“I might have lived through a bit of it,” Ellana said wryly. They walked past where the walls of the village had been, past the old stables. There, just over there, was where Bull and Blackwall had set up. Past that was Harritt’s old smithy. And further than that….

“That’s where the trebuchet was.” She looked over at the far reaches of the village.

“Pardon?” Bethany looked startled, and more than a little confused.

“When Corypheus attacked Haven, we triggered an avalanche to bury Haven along with most of his army to cover our escape. With that over there.” She pointed to the pile of broken, rotting wood under a heap of snow. It was all that remained of the machine that had saved so many lives. But not enough.

“I heard that story.” Bethany was a little breathless, whether from from the hike over the cold hillside or facing the fragments of history that had been half-woven into legend, Ellana couldn’t say. The mage turned to face her with a curious look. “They say you launched yourself out of a trebuchet to get away from the Elder One.”

It was tempting to laugh at that piece of absurdity. She almost did. But the specter of breath that was both hot and cold at the same time washed over her. The acrid smell of corrupted Lyrium, a burning and crackling pain in her left arm, the sickening lurch of the ground beneath her feet, a voice that was tar and gravel growling in her ear. _Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more_.

Bile rose in her throat.

“That...didn’t happen,” she said instead, shaking her head. “Honestly, I knew that the tales had gotten tall, but that’s just ridiculous.” It shouldn’t have surprised her. Leliana and Josephine had encouraged the stories to grow with each re-telling to garner popular support from the nobles. Varric hadn't helped, either.  Ellana had tolerated it for the sake of getting the resources the Inquisition needed to fight Corypheus. “It was much less fantastic than that, and a bit more undignified. I stumbled, fell really, into an underground passage that led out of Haven.”

_I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die._

Ellana closed her eyes against that particular ghost. Corypheus was more than five years dead. He couldn’t haunt her anymore unless she let him. When she opened her eyes, she saw Bethany giving her another one of those inscrutable looks, like she had when she’d first arrived at Skyhold. Between the ghosts that plagued her here and the tension that marred every interaction with Bethany, her skin itched with the need to shout, or scream, or do _something_ to break the awkwardness.

“I...I meant to ask you, what was that spell you used on the dragon yesterday? Right before it took off?” Ellana asked to fill the silence.

“Fist of the Maker.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“That’s what it’s called. ‘Fist of the Maker.’ Probably coined by some excessively devout mage with too much time on their hands, trying to curry favor with the Chantry,” Bethany said with a little smirk.

“It seems similar to what So...someone I once knew called a ‘Veilstrike’. He was...rather less devout to the Chantry than that.”

They walked in silence for a time across the frozen lake, their feet gliding soundlessly over the icy surface. She caught sight of smoke from campfires, followed by the faraway sound of voices. Bull, Krem, and the scouts must have decided that it was safe enough to do so, but she couldn’t help the small tug of anxiety that pulled at her stomach. They could not afford another surprise attack like that ambush.

“Can I ask you something?” Bethany said when they were near the edge of camp, close enough to smell the promised rabbit stew but far enough that it wasn’t

“Hmm?” Ellana tried to keep her sudden twitch of nervousness in check, but she could feel the tension seeping out.

“This Fen’Harel you’re working against. He’s a figure from Dalish myths, isn’t he?” Bethany asked casually. Perhaps too casually for Ellana’s liking.

“Yes,” she said slowly, feeling the knot of tension pull tighter.

“But he’s just using the name to stir up fear, right?”

“No. He really is Fen’Harel. It’s...kind of complicated.” Despite the tension in her, she almost laughed. It was an absurd impulse, but then again, these were absurd circumstances. Her former lover really was Fen’Harel, but not really a god. It was certainly not the life she’d imagined herself living as a child.

“But...how can that be? It’s just stories. Even Merrill admits these days that most of the Dalish stories are children’s tales.” There was a subtle shadow to the way Bethany said the Dalish mage’s name. She made a mental note of it and stowed it away for another time.

Ellana exhaled a shallow laugh. “From what Varric told me, you were there at the prison in the Vinmark Mountains when the corrupt Wardens freed Corypheus, a figure from your Chantry’s tales. He was real, too. Why not an Elvhen god?” For a moment, she savored the irony of arguing on behalf of gods she no longer believed in. Just a moment.

Bethany was silent for a few breaths. “Point taken, I guess. I suppose we really do live in strange times. Ancient Tevinter Darkspawn Magisters and real Dalish gods.”

“You don’t know the half it,” Ellana mused in a wry voice. “But I guess you haven’t spoken to Merrill much about this, or some of the details didn’t make it into Varric’s telling. Fen’Harel isn’t a god like your Maker. He’s...well, old and very powerful. And trying to rectify a mistake he once made, even though doing so threatens us all.” She finished on a quiet note.

“The Veil,” Bethany supplied in a quiet, thoughtful voice.

“Yes.”

“And you love him.” It wasn’t a question.

“I...what?” She stumbled over her own feet, trying to right herself physically and emotionally. Through the blankness in her mind that statement caused, she had one clear thought: She was going to kill Varric.

Bethany gave her a shrewd look. “It’s in the way you talk about him. Like you’re sad and angry all at once, but trying not to feel either. It’s nothing Varric told me, so you can probably stop fantasizing about wringing his neck or whatever it is you’re thinking of.”

“Who said anything about wringing his neck? I was thinking about singeing his chest hairs off, one by one.”

“Now that’s cruel and unusual. Probably very effective, too. I’ll have to remember it. And you didn’t deny that you love him.” Bethany crossed her arms over her chest, an expectant look on her face.

Ellana considered her words very carefully before answering. She allowed Dorian and Sera, her friends, to tease her some about it, but even Sera was careful not to do so in earshot of anyone else. If it became common knowledge that she had shared her bed with the man gathering the mysterious elven army everyone had heard about but no one really knew a thing about, Thedas would turn against her even more. She would lose the tenuous support that allowed her to operate freely in most of southern Thedas. Ferelden would be particularly eager to check her movements, hampering her ability to stop Solas.

Perhaps worst of all, Keeper Deshanna would be disappointed. Her relationship with her clan was strained after years of living away, losing her vallaslin and her faith along the way. But Clan Lavellan was always her home, always her family. There was little she wouldn’t do to protect them. She didn’t think she could bear for them to be ashamed of her.  She let Merrill in on the secret because she very much needed _someone_ to understand. She didn’t think her own clan would be quite so open-minded. They still clung to their beliefs in the Creators, as she sometimes still wished she could do.

She didn’t expect anyone who hadn’t been there in the Vir Dirthara to truly understand. It was still hard for her to accept sometimes.

Could she trust Bethany? She barely knew the woman. Creators knew Bethany had little enough reason to trust her.

“I’m sure Varric told you that Fen’Harel infiltrated the Inquisition with his elven spies prior to the Exalted Council, and that the Inquisition was disbanded to reduce the risk of it happening again.” She looked over at Bethany, who nodded. The she took a deep breath and took the plunge. “It’s not common knowledge that Fen’Harel posed as a member of the Inquisition from the very beginning. He was a trusted confidant. A friend. I loved the person I thought he was. He used me, he used the Inquisition, and then he left.”

She chanced a quick, apprehensive look at Bethany, not quite knowing what to expect in her reaction, but the human mage appeared thoughtful.

“My sister, Marian. She would have understood, I think,” she said slowly, cautiously looking over at Ellana as though gauging her reactions.

“What do you mean?” Ellana held her breath, feeling a sense of anticipation. Waiting, as the Orlesians said, for the other shoe to drop.

“She knew what it was to be used by someone she loved.” Bitterness clouded the air, and Ellana found herself exhaling slowly.

“Anders.” It finally dawned on her, in that moment, why Varric had been so dodgy about bringing Bethany along, why he insisted they talk with one another. And why Bethany was able to see right through the cloud of indifference she tried to surround herself with when it came to Solas.

Bethany said nothing, allowing her silence to speak volumes.

“Can I ask...what were they like? If it’s not too personal?” She had known Marian only briefly while they worked together to stop the corrupted Wardens, and she seemed little like the woman from Varric’s tales. Anders, she had never met at all. He was a figure of stories. A hero, for some. For others, a cautionary tale. She knew the stories Varric spun about them, their love, his descent into madness, the betrayal and the act that would throw southern Thedas into chaos.

“I don’t know what to say. Marian and I were close, especially after Carver died and we had to scrape by to survive in Kirkwall, but when I went to the Gallows we weren’t able to see each as much. I only knew Anders for a short time before I was in the Circle. He seemed a bit mad then, but...kind, I guess. Well, kind one day and cruel the next. But he wanted to help people. Mages, mostly. No matter what he did, though, it was never enough.

“Marian was never the same after Anders...after what happened. She kept on with her glib lines and awful puns, but something broke within her when he died.” Bethany slowly walked the perimeter of the camp, her face turned toward the central campfire so Ellana couldn’t see her expression. A few of the Chargers were still up, singing drinking songs by dim firelight.

“She didn’t talk about him much,” Ellana said softly, following along. She had asked once, but Hawke’s answer had been short. Varric never told her anything that he hadn’t written in his books. It had seemed too personal a thing to press further.

“Varric made it sound like some sort of great tragic romance,” Bethany smiled sadly. “It made for a better story. But I think...I think what Anders did cut her deeper than anything else. Worse than what happened to mother or Carver. She didn’t think she had a choice in the end. She blamed herself, thought she was too in love with him to see how far gone he was. That was why she….” She paused, twisting her hands together, looking steadily away. Ellana didn’t need her to finish that sentence. She already knew where it went. Then Bethany added, very quietly, “He was quite mad at the end, but I think he really did love my sister. That’s what made it so cruel.”

Ellana’s throat tightened. She’d had no idea that Hawke carried so much around. The woman had seemed focused and balanced at the time. Not even Cole had spoken to her pain, which he usually did for others. But then, she had volunteered to stay behind, hadn’t she? “I’ve never stopped thinking of her. I wanted to write to you, to say something. To tell you...I don’t know. An apology, I guess. But…” She struggled the find the words.

“She spoke of you,” Ellana said finally. Bethany turned to look at her, eyes full of grief and questions. She looked down at her hands, feeling the full weight of that particular decision. She and Alistair had lived...and Bethany had lost her only living family.  “When...when she stayed, she asked for your forgiveness.”

For a moment, there was nothing. Not even silence. The air between them ached with emptiness. Then she heard a sharp intake of breath from Bethany and looked up. The mage’s eyes were shining with unshed tears, her lower lip trembling.

“I’m sorry,” Ellana went on. “It...it’s inadequate, I know.”

“She’s with the Maker now. With mother and Carver,” Bethany said. She looked away, back toward the camp, but Ellana could hear the raw grief in her voice. She started lifting her hand to comfort the other woman, but it felt wrong. She had dragged Hawke into the Fade in the first place, and had made the fateful decision to leave her behind. What right did she have to comfort her sister? Bethany turned to her and tried to smile, but it faltered somewhere along the way and became a grimace.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said. Before Ellana could say anything else, she’d turned back to camp, walking at a pace that made it clear she wanted to be alone.

Ellana was left by herself on edge of camp, staring out over the ruins of Haven and thinking about Marian Hawke. She hadn’t had time to get to know her very well, in the midst of the insanity with Corypheus and the Grey Wardens. Hawke died because Ellana had prioritized restoring order to the Grey Wardens. The ancient order had fallen into shambles anyway, collapsing in on itself due to infighting. Had it truly been worth her life?

And now, hearing Bethany speak of her and Anders, it wasn’t hard to draw parallels between what she faced and what Hawke had done. The questions she avoided thinking about when she couldn’t sleep at night rose up and gnawed at her insides. Could she ever go that far? If it came to it, would she be able to wield the knife?

_No._

_Never_.

She had sworn to save him from himself, even if the love she still held was tainted by the poison of betrayal. He had even encouraged her to try. Was that not why he visited her dreams? There had to be some other way to stop him before it was too late. Something that would turn the tide. But if it was truly the last option, and she failed to act, how many more ghosts would there be?

The ghosts of Haven were quiet. They held no answers for her.

In the end, she was alone in her actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to have this up a few days ago, but I've been up to my eyeballs in a research proposal. The next chapter will likely take a bit since it's going to be a meaty one.
> 
> I know that Hawke doesn't really say anything the the person/people they leave behind if they stay in the Fade, but it felt right to give this Hawke a small bit of resolution here.


	11. The Baying of the Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan and Co make it to the Frostback Basin and meet some old allies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I said the next chapter was going to take a while, I apparently meant almost four months. 
> 
> Sorry about the delay! Have an extra long chapter as a reward for your patience. I wanted to make sure this one got out in one chunk instead of several smaller ones.

After Haven, Ellana was ever less sure of where she stood with Bethany. The human mage seemed to be actively avoiding her now. They had ripped each other’s old wounds open and were raw for it. She wasn’t sure if it would lead to healing, or more scarring. She was...content was not the right word, but willing to let it take its course. At the very least, there didn’t seem much point in trying to bring it all back up so soon.

The rest of the journey to the Frostback Basin passed in relative peace. No more surprise blizzards, elvish ambushes, or wholly unexpected dragons got in their way. They descended into the Ferelden side of the Frostbacks, where spring rains were starting to soak the land. With only one large tent left, they were forced to sleep in shifts and in close quarters with one another. To just about everyone except Dorian’s relief, the Iron Bull insisted in sleeping outside, where his large frame could take up as much room as it needed and his horns posed little risk of mangling the one intact tent left.

Each night when they made camp and the rain allowed for a fire, Ellana sat near the campfire, trying to mend the scraps of the tent they’d dismantled to create makeshift sleds. Sewing kept her occupied and didn’t allow her mind to wander overmuch, while her companions joked and told stories around her.

It reminded her of old times, times before the Inquisition. It was like being home...but not. Home was the one place she could never go again.

She sat with a swath of canvas in her lap and a thick bone needle clenched in her teeth. With her one had, she gathered the seams of the fabric together and placed them between her knees to keep them still. She placed her prosthetic hand behind the canvas and pushed the needle through with her remaining hand. Sewing one-handed was a challenge, it was slow and painstaking,  but she had found a way to make it work. It left her back and shoulders aching from sitting hunched over to keep the fabric in place, but it worth it. It was something she could _do_. She only had a few more panels to join before they would have a second functional tent, and then they just might have tolerable sleeping arrangements.

The Iron Bull plopped down next to her one evening when she was almost done. The sheer weight of him trembled the ground and ruffled the canvas she has carefully gathered between her knees. She grabbed onto it to keep it from falling and cast an irritated look at the Qunari.

“Sorry, boss,” he said, not sounding particularly sorry at all. She slowly pressed the seams of the fabric back together and gathered them together again. “You know, that’d go a lot faster if someone else did it. Someone with two hands.”

“You have two hands. Are you volunteering?”

“Naw, I was thinking Stitches might give it a go.”

“And make him live up to his name? Then the irony would be all gone.” That drew a laugh from him. She smiled wryly. “I don’t mind it. It gives me something to do. And I suppose it I should practice some skills so I can find something to do with myself when I’m done with all of this. Do you think I could make it a seamstress?” She held up a portion of the canvas for him. The stitches were wide, uneven, and ungainly. But, she noted with some pride, they held together when he gathered a small corner of the fabric between his thumb and forefinger and tugged on it.

“I wouldn’t quit your day job.” He sent the canvas back into her lap with a small flick of his wrist, his nostrils flaring with humor.

“I don’t have a day job. Not one that pays worth a damn, anyway.”

“You could always go mercenary, join the Chargers. We’ve got space for a one-armed elf in the company. Pay’s not bad, and we’ve got Pants-free Fridays.”

He succeeded in getting a laugh out of her her. “When you put it like that, it’s hard to say no. Maybe when this is all over.”

“When this is all over,” he echoed. She glanced at him, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. They were fighting mostly blind against a threat of unknown proportions with disastrous consequences should they fail. Yet they had to continue believing there would be something after this, otherwise what was the point?

“You planning on going back to the Free Marches when this is over?” Other than Skyhold, the Free Marches were the closest thing to home she knew. It almost made her consider Bull’s joking offer.

“Or Nevarra. Wherever the jobs are.” He shrugged noncommittally.

“Surely there can’t be that many so close to Tevinter.”

“You’d be surprised. With Par Vollen stepping it up, the ‘Vints’ve got  most of their forces concentrated in Seheron and up near the High Reaches. Not a whole lot keeping the southern border safe from bandits, so merchants and nobles are looking to hire. Makes for some pretty good times for a merc.”

“It’s still a long way from Qarinus.”

“That it is.” A look that could only be described as longing came over the qunari’s face as he looked over the camp. She didn’t even need to follow the direction of his gaze to know what he was looking at. Dorian sat near the central fire, trading jabs with Krem.

“Is it hard, spending so much time apart?” she found herself asking without thinking about it. He also seemed startled by the question, judging by how he turned his head quite abruptly to look at her.

“Yeah,” he said at length. “Yeah, it can be.” His large hand came up and settled on his chest, where she saw a small crystal dangling from a thin leather thong. How many times had she seen Dorian perform that exact same gesture while she’d been staying with him in Qarinus? Even when they were physically separated, they were never far apart.

“Just before I left Qarinus, you and Dorian were arguing,” she said slowly, suddenly remembering the Tevinter’s disdain when she’d asked about Bull back then. “What was that about?”

Bull’s hand dropped back down and fell on his thigh with a loud and startling slap. He chuckled. “Stupid fucking fight,” he said with a shake of his head. “You know Dorian. He likes the fireworks and the drama of a good fight, but he’s a softie at heart. It was some bullshit about Tevinter, that’s all.”

“You don’t seem to mind the fireworks so much. You two seem to set them off on a regular basis and keep on coming back to each other,” she observed. Bull gave her a long look, like he was searching for something, and then he smiled.

“I know who my _kadan_ is. He bitches and moans about Tevinter, but he loves the damn place for some fucking reason. Wants to fix it.” Bull snorted with disbelief, but there was a tenderness to his expression that she rarely saw. At one time, perhaps, theirs might have been a purely physical relationship, based on a certain exocitism of the forbidden. But it had changed. _They_ had changed. Ellana had been privately surprised when it lasted past the end of Corypheus and Dorian’s return to Tevinter.

Yet here they were.

“He seems convinced he can.”

“More likely he’s gonna end up with a knife in his back,” Bull said sourly. Ellana nodded with a dawning understanding of what the fight had really been about. Had it not started shortly after the second assassination attempt during her stay there? As a former Ben-Hassrath spy, Bull had to know how those things worked in Tevinter. He might, at one time, have even tried to facilitate such an attempt by whispering the right words in the right person’s ear. But things were different now.

Everything was different.

“Maybe. But he’s decided that it’s something worth dying for,” she replied. Almost as one, they looked over to where the subject of their conversation had a look of mock indignation on his face at something Krem had just said. Sera was laughing so hard that she’d fallen off the log she’d been sitting on, which only made her laugh harder. Ellana turned back to look at Bull. One corner of his mouth was turned up in an affectionate, lopsided smile.

“I know,” he said, a note of pride in his voice. “Don’t mean I don’t get to worry about his ass.”

“Among other parts,” Ellana added with a smile.

“Among _many_ other parts,” he agreed with a grin that she knew all too well. Immediately, Ellana regretted the mischievous turn of conversation and the crock of worms she’d opened with it.

“You’re about to say something that I’ll never be able to un-hear, aren’t you?”

“Oh-ho, boss. You have _no_ idea.”

Ellana buried her face in her hand, shook her head, and groaned.

* * *

The Frostback Basin was colder than she remembered, she thought when they arrived there a few days later. It was late morning when they began their descent into the basin, but a thin layer of frost still clung to the leaves of smaller plants and grass. The area had always been temperate in her previous visits, so it came as a surprise to her. Dorian grumbled good-naturedly about the cold, of course, and even Ellana found herself pulling her traveling cloak tighter.

She didn’t need to the scouts to tell her they were being watched within a few hours of arriving. She could practically feel the eyes of the Avvar scouts on her as they trudged along the narrow paths and made camp in the abandoned wooden fort the Inquisition had once occupied.  The next morning, they made for the winding mountain paths to Stone Bear Hold. The Avvar scouts kept a respectful and almost unnervingly quiet distance.

“They’re letting us know they’re watching,” she told the scouts when they asked how she wanted to handle the spying. “Keep an eye on them, but keep back unless they identify themselves as being from a friendly clan. The Hakkonites were driven out after the last time we were here, but not every clan will be happy with a party of lowlanders tromping around.” The visitors never did identify themselves, however, but neither did they attack. They dropped out of sight as the party approached Stone Bear Hold.

Nor were the Avvar scouts their only company as they made their way through the basin. Brightly plumed birds squawked overhead and lurkers occasionally rustled in the underbrush, spooking the horses, but staying mostly out of sight.

The narrow cliffside path opened into a wide ledge in the side of the mountain, overlooking Cloudcap Lake. The Stone-bear Hold was just up ahead. Two large warriors stood in their path, blocking the way forward. They appeared utterly unsurprised at the sudden appearance of the lowlanders at their door. One of them stepped forward, large arms crossed over his barrel-like chest. The war hammer he bore on his back would have looked massive on another man. On him, it looked like a blacksmith’s hammer. Ellana quickly stepped to the front of the party, despite the chill down her spine, and gave the warrior a small bow of greeting.

“Maker, are all Avvar men so big?” Bethany’s semi-awed voice whispered from somewhere behind her. Ellana fought the urge to laugh, but Dorian had no such restraint.

“Bethany dear, you’re in for a treat here. A somewhat hairy treat, but the men in this part of the South are _well_ fit,” he whispered to her conspiratorially.

“ _Ahem_ .” The Iron Bull Cleared his throat. “I’m standing _right here_ , _kadan_.”

“Inquisitor First-Thaw,” the Avvar warrior said, completely ignoring the banter going on behind her back. Ellana opened her mouth to correct the title, but her eyes drifted back to the enormous hammer and she thought better of it. “I’m Sjurd Torvalssen. The Augur said you’d be coming, and our scouts saw you on the way up.”

“Your Augur was expecting us?” Ellana repeated. Her brows knit together in puzzlement.

“Augur?” She heard Bethany ask at the same time, sounding equally confused but likely for different reasons.

“The Avvar shaman,” Ellana quickly explained. “He speaks with the spirits...the Avvar gods,” she amended quickly, with a respectful nod to the Avvar right in front of her. He seemed utterly indifferent to the discussion of his gods, merely shrugging with an impatient grunt. “I’ll explain more later,” she said, taking the hint and turning back to the Avvar guardsman. “Well met, Sjurd Torvalssen. We respectfully request an audience with Thane Sun-hair to discuss our business here.”

“The Thane told us to greet you and send you to her,” Sjurd grunted, looking down at her from over his crossed arms, still blocking the way. There was a long, awkward silence where no one spoke or moved. Ellana felt like she was holding her breath. Then she felt, rather than saw, the Iron Bull move into place behind her. The Avvar’s eyes flicked up to assess the qunari. Some silent exchange seemed to go on between the two, some communication that mostly seemed to consist of staring, before Sjurd stepped aside to let them pass.

“Be welcome to the hold, First-thaw,” he said with the grunt and waved them by.

“What was that about?” she asked Bull as they passed by the guards and went up the path to the village.

“Just a little pissing contest,” he replied without further elaboration.

The Avvar hold was bustling with activity when they arrived. The last time Ellana had spent much time in it, it had hummed with a boisterous energy. Now it had a quiet, almost urgent feel to it. None of the hunters appeared to be in the hold. The hold’s youth were gathered near a sheer cliff face at the center of the village, muttering nervously as one of their own attempted to climb the rock face. Several women were quietly engaged in stacking sacks of the hard, unleavened bread that was similar to Dalish tack. The Avvar noticed the incoming party, and all quickly returned to their tasks. A feeling of unease settled like an itch between her shoulders.

They turned left to where a set of crude wooden doors were set in front of a shallow cave in the mountainside. Another set of burly Avvar stood guard there, but they did not challenge Ellana and her companions as they passed by, merely nodding respectfully and stepping aside. She handed Prois’ reins to one of Bull’s men before entering. As she entered the dark, torch-lit cave, she craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the Hold-Beast, Storvacker, but the great bear’s usual corner of the cave was empty.

“Inquisitor First-thaw.” Thane Svarah Sun-hair sat on her great wooden chair in front of the cave’s large fire pit. A handful of logs smoldered feebly, banked off to the side, casting the Thane’s features with a dim orange glow. The Avvar chief rose from her chair to greet Ellana, holding out a hand in greeting.

“Thane Sun-hair,” she greeted in return, holding out her right arm. Sun-hair grasped her by the forearm and gave her arm a tight squeeze.

“It’s been near-on five years since you last visited Stone-Bear Hold. We heard your Inquisition was no more, but the woman who defeated Hakkon Wintersbreath is always welcome among my kin. I can see much has happened since then.” Her eyes flickered to the harness and prosthetic on Ellana’s left arm. “I’d like to hear the tale of how that happened. I hope you avenged yourself on whoever took it and took two of theirs in return.” The Avvar woman smiled grimly, but Ellana couldn’t help the grimace that snuck up on her.

“It’s a...long story, Thane Sun-hair. I guess you could say I’m seeking my revenge.”

“Good.” The Avvar gave her a hearty slap on the back that nearly knocked her over. Ellana took a step forward to steady herself from the unexpected impact. “A woman’s got a right to vengeance,” she said approvingly before returning to her chair. “What brings you to our hold after all this time, First-thaw?”

“Your guardsman said we were expected by the Augur. Did he say why?” She asked, weighing how best to answer the Thane’s question without seeming desperate or out of her mind. It was, after all, a considerable longshot.

“The Gods haven been vocal of late, he tells me. He said you would be coming, but little else. Ask him yourself if you want to know.” Thane Sun-hair shrugged. If Ellana didn’t know any better, she’d say the woman almost seemed annoyed with the Augur.

“I will, thank you. In answer to your question, however, we’re here because we’re looking for clues.” She turned over her shoulder to look at Dorian, who nodded at her and stepped forward with a charming smile plastered on his face.

“My dear madame Sun-hair,” he said with a low bow and flourish. The Thane’s eyes flickered and narrowed, but she said nothing and allowed Dorian to continue. “I won’t bore you with a history lesson you know all too well, but suffice to say some of my less-than-esteemed countrymen left some old trinkets and ruins behind the last time they were here. That stunningly archaic and oppressive fortress the Hakkonites took over comes to mind.” He flashed her a toothy grin. “The lovely Lady Lavellan has been searching the length and breadth of Thedas to locate information on ancient Elvhen magic, which might hold the key to defeating the enemy we now face. Our clever Arcanist friend located a clue which points to the Tevinter occupation of the Frostback Basin, as unlikely as it may seem. My forebears based much of their magic on what they stole from the elves after the fall of Arlathan, after all.”

Thane Sun-hair’s expression began to melt from bored to dangerously bored, a feeling Ellana remembered all too well from the endless parades of dignitaries and nobles who insisted on wasting her time during her tenure as the Inquisitor.

“Dorian,” she said, a reminder and a warning to keep it short and to the point. He paused, seeming thrown off by the interruption. But he regained his stride quickly, giving both Ellana and the Thane an easy, confident smile.

“Ah, anyway. We’d like your permission to investigate the Mouth of Echoes. We’re looking for clues about _foci_ , and the only record we can find refers to this cave.” He produced a scrap of parchment from his sleeve and handed it to the Thane. She read with with a thoroughly unimpressed look on her face, then handed it back.

“You have my permission, First-thaw,” she said, looking straight past Dorian to Ellana.

“Thank you, Thane Sun-hair.” She gave the chief a deep nod of respect.

“You needn’t have asked permission, you know. You could have walked there without coming to see us first.”

“I would be a poor ally if I did that, I think,” Ellana responded. The Thane gave a pleased grunt and a nod.

“Now go see the Augur before you go to the Mouth of Echoes. Or I’ll never hear the bloody end of it from him.”

It was a clear dismissal. Ellana murmured her thanks again and left the cave, her party trailing behind her. It was a short walk from the Thane’s chamber to the Augur’s hut on the ledge just above the main clearing.

“So this Augur...talks to spirits?” Bethany asked as hiked up the steep path.

“Avvar mages have close relationships with spirits. I don’t think I could explain it in a way that does it justice. But they’re more like friends and guides, I guess,” Ellana explained. No one seemed to have quite the same view of spirits as the Avvar, openly welcoming them into their everyday lives. No one, except perhaps Solas. The thought made her pause for a moment.

“It seems...unusual,” Bethany said apprehensively. By then they were at the door to the Augur’s hut.

“You’re welcome to come in and see for yourself,” she said, then turned to the door. She lifted her hand to knock on the door, but before she could, she heard a deep, burred voice come from the other side.

“First-Thaw.” The Augur’s voice boomed with amusement. “Come in, now, we haven’t got all day.”

Her hand went limply to her side in bemusement at the unexpected welcome. She pushed the door open with her shoulder and shuffled into the hut. Thick pillows of herb-scented smoke issued from the large brazier in the center of the one-room hut. Almost immediately, her armor became thick and stifling under the heavy scent of burning sage and mountain rose. Dorian followed her in, as did Bethany after a moment’s hesitation, while Bull, Sera, and the rest stayed outside. “To look out for...things, you know,” she heard Sera mutter as she went past.

“It’s about bloody time. There she is, now, are you happy?” She looked over as the Augur spoke again in an irritable voice, puzzled by his question. But he wasn’t looking at her. Half a dozen ephemeral forms, ranging in color from deep red to light yellow, floated aimlessly around the room. The large Avvar’s eyes was fixed on one of them, a brilliant orange one that hovered close to the brazier. It had a strong presence, the smoke billowing through it making it seem aflame. And she had the strong impression that it was looking directly at her.

“Can they still...see me?” She frowned. Last time, the Augur had told her how she shone brightly in the Fade due to the Anchor. But now…. She looked down at the wooden prosthetic attached to her left arm.

“In a way. They’ve been waiting for you. I was just giving an offering to the gods to see if they had any advice for today. Do you want to make your own offering?” The Augur gave her a penetrating look. She suddenly felt that the spirits in the hut had all turned to look at her with equal intensity.

“Well, when you put me on the spot like that,” she murmured. She thought back to last time she worked with the Avvar, and the small gifts they sometimes offered to their gods. A small animal or food. She had none of those on her. She only had the staff on her back, her hand, her armor, and a few items in her pockets. She patted her pockets until she felt something rattling in them. The bone needle she’d used to repair the tent. Maybe that would be enough. She hesitated a moment before handing it to the Augur. “It’s not much to offer your gods….”

“There’s power in intent.” He took the needle and laid it on the edge of the brazier. “Korth Mountain Father gives us the beasts we use for food, for hide for clothing and armor, and their bones for weapons.”

“That’s not a weapon, unless you consider needlepoint a form of warfare.” Dorian quipped from behind her.

“In the Circle, it might as well be. Bored mages can wage battles over anything,” Bethany piped in with amusement. Dorian turned a startled and mildly appraising look on her, then snorted a laugh.

“Lowlanders,” the Augur said with a certain note of disgust. “A good needle and some furs can keep Hakkon Wintersbreath himself at bay. It can sew the pieces of your armor together. A needle is a worthy offering to the gods.”

The orange spirit that had been so intensely interested in her hovered near the edge of the brazier where the Augur had placed the needle, then floated slowly to the Augur’s other side. The two were communing, that much was clear, but what went on between them she couldn’t say. She tried opening her senses, like she had in the basement of the Haven chantry. Whispers tickled at the edges of her hearing, indistinct and blurred, a jumble of voices all murmuring together like a waterfall of hushed voices. She couldn’t pick out a single one to focus in on, leaving her feeling disoriented and dizzy.

“She approves,” the Augur said finally, snapping her out of her reverie.

“She?” Ellana’s eyes flickered to the spirit. It had changed somehow. Its color less intense. It seemed...pleased?

“She’s been bugging me for weeks, that one. Saying you were coming and that she wanted to see you for herself.”

“But...why?” She looked between the Augur and the spirit, more puzzled than she could remember feeling for some time.

“You don’t blaze like fire anymore. But there’s embers yet. The gods and spirits can see it. They can hear the baying of the wolves at your heels, see the trouble that follows you even while seek it.”

“They baying of the wolves?” Ellana’s hand clenched tightly at her side. Just what did the Augur and his gods know?

“That’s what they tell me. They can be vague sometimes.” The Augur shrugged his irritation. “Troubled times are behind us, and ahead of us. The gods of the hold are wary. They say the Lady of the Skies weeps, and the Mountain Father stirs with anger, making the beasts restless. Hakkon Winsterbreath grows strong with the stirrings of war. The gods tell me to abandon this hold. Storvacker has already left on her own.Thane Sun-Hair heeds their wisdom. If you had come a fortnight from now, Inquisitor First-Thaw, we wouldn’t have been here.”

Ellana swallowed, feeling the significance of the Augur’s words. The clan had called Stone Bear Hold home for generations. Not many Avvar clans could say that. “Where will you go?”

“Where the gods will us. South, for now, until the Lady bids us stop. The hunters are off catching more game for meat and fur for our journey while the young ones gather nuts and fruits where they can.”

A long moment of silence followed his words. Not even Dorian had a pithy comment.

“War is coming,” Ellana agreed at last, breaking the silence. All eyes, human and spirit, locked on her. “We’re doing what we can to stop it. You have my word.”

 _Whatever that’s worth these days_.

“I believe you, lowlander. The gods want me to pass something on to you. ‘Let Andruil's bow crack, let June's fire grow cold. Let them build temples and lure the faithful with promises. Their pride will consume them.’” He looked as puzzled as he felt, repeating those words. They were familiar somehow, but she couldn’t put her finger on what, exactly, it was. What would the Avvar spirits care for the Creators, anyway?

“I...thank you, I think.” She nodded at the spirits dubiously.

“Now maybe they’ll stop pestering me,” the Augur grumbled irritably.

It was a lot to process, and Ellana wanted nothing more than to stay and try and puzzle out the meaning of the spirits’ words, and where she’d heard them before.

 _Their pride will consume them_.

“This one here,” the Augur nodded at the orange spirit. “She says to find the ones who sleep in the arms of Korth Mountain-Father.”

“The arms of Korth Mountain-Father?” Ellana repeated, even more puzzled than before. She looked back at Bethany and Dorian. Bethany was frowning, thinking on the riddle. Dorian merely shook his head. Korth was the Avvar god of mountains and...caves?

“Underground?” Ellana guessed.

Bethany took a sharp intake of breath when the realization hit her.

“I fucking hate the Deep Roads,” Dorian groaned.

* * *

Somehow, the air felt colder than before they’d gone in the Augur’s hut.

Bull, Sera, and the others joined them when they were done speaking with the Avvar mystic. She’d learned long ago that spirits were often puzzling, yet wise in their own ways. Cole had taught her that. Yet it was hard to credit the words of a spirit that she couldn’t directly speak to. She only had the Augur’s word, and even he had seemed puzzled by message the spirits were conveying through him.

If only she knew how to contact Cole, but no one had heard from him since shortly after the Exalted Council.

As they left the Avvar hold, the guard who greeted them when they’d first arrived stepped out in their path. Ellana came to a stop and held her arm up, signalling the rest of the party to do the same.

“First-thaw,” Sjurd Torvalssen said, his face completely expressionless. “Thane Sun-hair asks me to go with you to the Mouth of Echoes.”

“We know the way there,” Ellana said, not quite rejecting the Thane’s offer until she knew why.

“I’m not your guide, First-thaw. The creatures here in the basin are unsettled. Gurguts took two of ours just last week. The Thane doesn’t want to look bad if guests of her Hold are injured without one of the clan to defend them.” The large Avvar’s scowl made it clear how little he cared for anyone who would impugn his Thane’s honor.

“I would not dishonor Thane Sun-hair by declining her offer. Very well, Sjurd Torvalssen. Lead the way.” Despite herself, Ellana felt the corner of her mouth tug up in a half-smile.

The Avvar grunted and turned, starting down the path at a slow pace. Bethany, she noticed, fell in behind him, and the rest followed.

The cave was a full day’s journeys from Stone Bear Hold, and it was already mid-afternoon by the time they left. They stopped for the night near the shores of Cloudcap Lake. After setting helping set up the tents and making sure Prois had enough feed, Ellana sat near the shore of the lake. The Iron Bull and Sjurd had taken up their absurd pissing contest again, glaring at each other over the campfire and eating their supper of dried meat, tack, and gathered fruit in increasingly aggressive manners. Dorian seemed utterly delighted at the display, but Ellana needed a break from it.

It was a clear night, save for a few clouds. The waning crescent moon half-hid behind one of the clouds, giving her a clear view of the stars in the rest of the sky. The lake was even calm enough that she could see a near-perfect reflection of the night sky on its smooth surface.

She traced the familiar lines of the constellations, though they were further north in the sky than where she’d learned them in her youth in the Free Marches. Draconis rose high over the trees to the north. Tenebrium watched over the Frostbacks in the west. Fervenial was on high overhead. All the constellations went by names the Tevinters had given them. What names had they had before that? Had the Elvhen even had the same constellations, or were they just another thing the ancient Tevinters had taken from those they had enslaved? She still remembered Keeper Deshanna’s lessons. Tenebrium, the Shadow, was Falon’Din, Friend of the Dead. Ferveniel the Oak represented Andruil’s Way of the Three Trees.

 _“But Keeper,”_ she remembered asking once, _“Why do the tree_ vallaslin _honor Mythal if the Oak is for Andruil?_ ”

 _“Hush,_ da’len _,”_ Keeper Deshanna had responded. _“Let me get on with the lesson. There will be time for questions later_.”

But Deshanna had never answered. Ellana suspected that she didn’t have an answer. So much of their lore was pieced together from the fragments of half-remembered myths and history. Who was to say _they_ hadn’t taken the Tevinters constellations and applied their own meaning to them when her ancestors tried to rebuild their culture in the Dales?

The top half of the constellation Belenas was just visible over on the western horizon, the constellation the Tevinters had identified with the Avvar god of Korth Mountain-Father.

What had the Augur’s spirits meant, _Seek the ones who sleep in the arms of Korth Mountain-Father_? The Deep Roads were the obvious choice, and Cullen and Harding had been discussing the possibility of using them to conceal their movements from Solas’s spies. But the Deep Roads were incredibly dangerous, not something to use lightly. She’d sent off a messenger bird to Weisshaupt before leaving Skyhold in hopes of contacting Thom or Alistair to get more detailed maps, but she had little hope of hearing back from either. The Grey Wardens were embroiled in infighting resulting from their corruption at the hands of Corypheus and the Nightmare demon. Though from what Leliana had told her, the event had merely exposed cracks that already existed in the order—it had long since become more political than military, and all the graft and corruption that came with it.

But who—or what—were the ones that “slept” in his arms?

She heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind her, and turned to see Bethany approaching. She raised an eyebrow at the human mage and felt tension gather between her shoulders. She hadn’t made an effort to talk to her since Haven, and Ellana had been content with that. With everything else on her mind, she wasn’t eager to tread right back into the awkward territory they’d ventured into before.

“The camp is utterly stifling. The tension’s so thick over there you could cut it with a dagger,” Bethany explained with a grimace. Ellana looked back at the campfire. Bull and Sjurd were sitting across from one another, glaring menacingly. The scouts and the rest of the Chargers were tiptoeing around the two large men as though they might come to blows at any minute.

“Maybe they should just arm wrestle and get it over with. It’d make Dorian happy,” Ellana said lightly.

“They seem just as likely to start punching each other.”

“After we check out the Mouth of Echoes tomorrow, Sjurd will go back to Stone-Bear Hold and Bull will be back to being the largest male in the room. All will be back to normal.” She knew Bull well enough to understand that he wasn’t taking whatever this contest was about very seriously. Sjurd was an unknown, however. She was fully prepared to throw a Disruption Field their way to calm things down if necessary.

“What is so important about foci that you had to come all the way out here to chase a thousand year old scrap of parchment?”

“You’re asking me now, after you’ve already come all this way?” Ellana laughed, but it was half a serious question. She still didn’t understand why Bethany had volunteered for this expedition.

But Bethany merely laughed in return and settled herself down to sit near Ellana, facing the lake. “I suppose that’s fair. But how _do_ foci relate to stopping Fen’Harel?”

Ellana looked down at her left arm, at the prosthetic. When she’s first lost it, she’d been told to expect phantom pains. Those still came and went. What she hadn’t been prepared for was the loss of the Anchor. It seemed so long ago that she’d had to wear a glove at night to keep the unsteady green glow from keeping her awake. Though she’d eventually learned to control it, and live with it, she still sometimes awoke in the middle of the night expecting to see its light. She hadn’t realized the extent to which it had become a part of her until she’d lost it.

“Foci, they’re a means of storing or focusing magical power as best I can understand it. The whole mess with Corypheus started because he got his hands on an Elvhen focus. Another bit of uncommon knowledge,” she said with a note of warning. She had already trusted Bethany with one piece of incredibly sensitive information—both personally and politically—so all she could do now was hope that her trust wasn’t misplaced. Even so, she left out whose focus it had been, and how Corypheus came to possess it in the first place. “I stumbled across him trying to use it, and the rest is history.” She held up the prosthetic.

“The power to tear open the Veil, all from an artifact?” Bethany’s eyes were wide with astonishment.

“S...Fen’Harel is powerful. Incredibly powerful. I can’t begin to understand the kind of magic he wields, but I’ve been trying. I spent six months crawling through Tevinter archives for hints, to see if they recorded something from their earliest contact with elves. I found references to somnaborium, which may have been based on foci, but nothing terribly instructional. If the Tevinters really did try to create foci in the Mouth of Echoes, it might give us a clue what we’re dealing with.”

“What do you think the odds are of finding one there?”

“Slim to none. But if you have a better idea, I’m all ears.” She smiled humorlessly.

“Ears. You’re a funny elf, aren’t you?”

“A regular jester, I’m told.”

“Small wonder you and Varric get on so well.” Bethany smiled, the first warm and genuine smile Ellana had seen from her.

She opened her mouth to make a smart remark about the kind of people Varric tended to surround himself with when a sudden noise from the camp got her attention. She turned back to see the Chargers, the scouts, Dorian, and Sera all ringed around Bull and Sjurd. The two men were sitting across from each other with their elbows resting on a tree stump, their hands locked together, and looks of intense concentration on their faces as each tried to push the other’s arm over. Ellana bit back a sigh of amused exasperation at the sight.

“I think we’d better head back. I’d hate to miss this.”

“Agreed.” Bethany laughed. They both got up and brushed the sand from their clothes. “Any bets on the winner?”

“I think neither Dorian nor Bull will forgive me if I bet against him,” Ellana said with a grin.

“I wouldn’t mind so much if the Avvar won,” Bethany replied.

As they walked back toward the campfire and the sounds of their companions cheers and laughter, Ellana looked back up at the sky. There, just over the northern horizon, the twinkling stars that made up the constellation of Fenrir, the wolf, looked down over her.

* * *

 

The Mouth of Echoes was much as she remembered it: a limestone cave carved from the side of a hill by time and the river that flowed alongside it. It was not terribly remarkable, as caves went. It held no particular place in her memory from her previous visit there, except that she seemed to recall hunting and cornering a Fade-touched spider as a favor to young Avvar man. The southern opening of the cave, situated just above the riverbank sandbar, was partially obscured by a tangle of plants.

She gingerly pushed aside the thorny branches of a particularly gnarly-looking felandaris plant with her staff to clear a small path, allowing Bethany, Dorian, and Sera to step in ahead of her. The Iron Bull waited for her to pass before simply hacking the foliage away with his great-axe.

“Couldn’t do that earlier?” Sera asked irritably, inspecting her plaideweave leggings for signs of tears.

All three mages—four, if one counted Dalish—conjured wisps to light up the cave. Ellana located a Veilfire torch sconce near the entrance and brought it to life with a small spark of magic. The cave walls lit up with the sort of eerie green light only Veilfire could cast. She held the torch in front of her as she ventured further in, casting odd, flickering shadows along the way.

It seemed utterly empty, devoid of even the chittering of the giant spiders or the clicking of the lurkers that liked to call caves like this home. She could hear only the soft footfalls of her companions and the steady _drip drip drip_ of water somewhere deeper in the cave. A familiar tingle started to tickle at her senses, started at the stump of her left arm.

Just like at the Haven chantry.

“Dorian,” she said quietly. Her voice echoed off the smooth limestone walls, carrying further into the cavern and growing louder as it did, until the words echoed back at her, distorted and jumbled. “The Veil is thin here.”

The Tevinter mage nodded in quiet agreement.

“The gods are strong here,” Sjurd rumbled, seeming pleased rather than disconcerted as everyone else was.

“Shitballs,” Sera said flatly. Ellana heard the creak of a bowstring echo through the cave, the familiar sound of the younger woman nocking and drawing an arrow.

“Let’s see if we can find what we came for and get out quickly,” Ellana said. She turned and waved the torch in front of the cave wall. Just ahead of her, the smooth limestone gave way to scratchings and carvings on the wall. Some were fresh, with edges still sharp and unworn by time. Others were older and  had clearly seen several rounds of flood from the river, giving them a rounder and less distinct look. Suddenly, Sera snorted a laugh.

“What is it?” Ellana asked, startled out of her inspection by the way the sound echoed back and forth across the walls.

“Nothin’,” Sera chuckled. Dorian, standing near her, shook his head with a laugh of his own.

“It appears someone thought this an appropriate canvas for a rather badly written limerick. Tasteless, I tell you. They could have at least tried to make it rhyme.”

“Well, what does it say?” Bethany asked impishly.

“I think I’m beginning to like you, Bethany Hawke,” Dorian remarked.

“If we could please stay focused?” Ellana pleaded, though that same curiosity to know what it said was at war with her desire to leave this place that was making her very skin itch.

“Lavellan,” Krem said from a few paces ahead of her. He was facing a portion of the wall with intricately carved designs on it. Dorian also shuffled closer.

“These are Tevinter designs. Old ones, by the look of them,” he said.

“The Tevinters came and tried to make the Mouth of Echoes talk to their gods long ago. The Augur tells us this much,” Sjurd put in.

Ellana looked closely at the wall, inching along it. Carved into the cave wall was the figure of a woman, seated, with great clouds around her head.

“Eluvia. Razikale,” she murmured, remembering what she'd learned from the Tevinter archives.

“Loova-what-now?” Sera asked. Ellana didn’t look at her to know she was making that face, the grimace she made when faced with things that made her uncomfortable.

“The Tevinter Old God of mystery. Razikale.” She handed her Veilfire torch to Krem and traced the edges of the carving with her now-free hand. There, right down the center of the woman’s chest, were several sockets, each slightly larger than Bull’s fist. Empty sockets.

“I don’t think we’ll be finding what we came here for,” she said softly. Flatly. Why did she feel so disappointed? There had never been a real chance of finding something useful, had there?

“Piss on that,” Sera spat. The sound of her interjection echoed to the back of the cave, but this time no echoes returned back to them.

 _Something’s wrong_ , her senses screamed at her.

The air suddenly seemed too thick, too heavy. Ellana’s hand went to the staff on her back while she took a good three paces back toward the mouth of the cave. She could feel the thinness of the veil, like a strip of fabric being pushed and prodded by too many hands. And all it once, it gave way. The floor of the cavern seemed to boil. Thick, viscous blisters of black and bubbled and burst as a dozen ragged shapes emerged from the ground.

“Shades!” she shouted. Mana gathered in her hands. She channeled it into the staff and slammed it into the ground. An arc of lightning shot through the air, hitting first one shade, then splitting and hitting several more behind it.

She heard the sharp _twang_ of a bowstring and felt an arrow whistle by her ear, hitting one of the shades clean in the head. Both Sjurd and Bull rushed past her, and were shortly joined by Krem, Grim, and the rest of the warriors.

One of the shades broke loose from the ring of warriors and rushed straight for her. It reached for her with its grotesquely long arms, its skin shining like a sickly black tar in the green glow of the Veilfire. She pulled at the mana, the magical energy that flowed from the Fade, and gathered it to her staff again, but the shade managed to reach her, to knock her staff out of her hand.

“ _Fenedhis_ !” she cursed. The shade reeled back, hit by two arrows in quick succession, but it wasn’t down for the count yet. With little time to scrabble for her staff, Ellana gathered her mana again, this time to her _left_ hand, to the enchanted prosthetic Dagna had made her.

The spirit blade sparked to life, died down, then flickered back again. Without giving it a chance to die down again, she lunged at the shade. The blade went clean through it. The creature screeched horribly as it died, vanishing back into the aether from where it came. The screeches echoed and magnified through the cave, creating an awful cacophony.

Ellana didn’t think, she merely acted, leaping for the next shade she saw. The creature had slipped away from the warriors, and was stretching its arm toward the Avvar, Sjurd.

“Behind you!” she called. The large Avvar turned and swung at the shade with his giant maul at the same time Ellana slashed at it, killing it instantly.

The rest of the battle was short. The shades were outnumbered, but quickly dispatched. Once the last of them had vanished, the last scream ringing around the cave walls for seemed like hours, Ellana stopped to try and find her staff.

It wasn’t far from where she left it, but when she bent to pick to pick it up, a large hand suddenly grabbed it before she could. She looked up, blinking with surprise to see Sjurd Torvalssen handing it to her.

“First-thaw. You watched my back in battle like an Avvar. Thane Sun-hair will hear of your deeds today.” He rumbled with approval. It was almost night and day from his surly demeanor on the road from Stone-Bear Hold.

“You weren’t so bad, yourself,” she mumbled awkwardly in return.

“Haha, you see that? We kicked their asses _right_ back to the Fade!” The Iron Bull strode by just then, clapping both Ellana and Sjurd on their backs hard enough to knock Ellana forward.

“And you, the Iron Bull, you fought with honor,” The Avvar said, turning to the qunari. The two men clasped hands at the forearms and shook, each giving the other a warrior’s respect.

Nearby, Dorian cleared his throat. “As charming as this display of male bonding is, may I suggest we leave this cave? The Veil here is far too thin for my liking.”

Bull rumbled with laughter. “Alright, _kadan_. Let’s get the fuck out of here.” Bull moved over to his lover and pulled him up in an exuberant hug. Dorian had a tolerant look on his face, like he was just barely holding back an eyeroll at the public display of affection.

Sera, as usual, had no such compunctions. “ _Blech_. At least wait until we’re out to get all kissy-kissy, you two.” She chucked a small rock at the two of them.

Ellana hid a smile as she made for the cave entrance. The more things changed, it seemed, the more they stayed the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter draws heavily on a couple of obscure codex entries.
> 
> [The Mouth of Echoes](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Mouth_of_Echoes) is one of the few codex references to foci.
> 
> The words the Augur conveys are also codex entry from the Jaws of Hakkon DLC, [Geldauran's Claim](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Geldauran%27s_Claim). Make of that what you will.
> 
> I tried to describe the Mouth of Echoes and the rest of the Frostback Basin with as much fidelity to the game as possible, but the latest patch broke DAI on my PS4 and I can't access my saves. Google only helped so much, so I resorted to the old writer's trick of Making Shit Up here and there.
> 
> And hey, I've got one of those [tumblr](http://laelior.tumblr.com/) things now.


End file.
